The Wizard at Number 10
by Carver Twain
Summary: (Merlin x Harry Potter Crossover: Modern AU) Merlin Gwilt has had magic ever since he was born, so naturally, he is accepted to Hogwarts. Years later, Merlin gets a job assisting his uncle, the Prime Minister's personal doctor. Of course, he has to keep his magic under wraps. But trouble has always followed Merlin around, and it's no different when he's the wizard in Number 10.
1. Beans on Toast

Chapter 1: Beans on Toast

* * *

June 25, 2002

A small village about 40 minutes drive outside of Northampton, UK.

About half past nine in the morning.

* * *

Merlin finished pulling on the shirt that mother had bought for him yesterday and pulled such a face at himself in the mirror that he ended up smiling anyway. Didn't matter much though. He was going to get it dirty anyway. So he gave his reflection a quick nod and grabbed his favorite kerchief from the plastic hook on his wall. Today was a 'favorite kerchief' kind of day.

It was also Tuesday. Tuesday meant beans on toast. And beans on toast had to be avoided at all costs.

Merlin slipped on his shoes and slid out of his room, tying the kerchief around his neck. He could hear his mother stirring in the kitchen, clinks of cooking and the murmur of the radio, which was more static than music at this point. He stalked down the hall. He heard another voice, someone talking about the weather or something. Boring stuff. An old lady's voice. Must be one of his mother's friends. Ugh. Like he needed that. On today of all days.

Now all he had to do was steal past the kitchen doorway without anyone spotting him and he was free to escape out the front door.

He hesitated at the edge of the doorframe then made a break for it.

Safe!

He reached for the handle on the front door.

"Merlin! Breakfast's ready, come downstairs!" His mother's voice rang out from the kitchen behind him.

Merlin winced. He could almost see her, hands on her hips, apron fluttering as she padded over the kitchen linoleum on bare feet. He went ahead and grasped the door handle, being careful to turn it ever so slowly. The latch withdrew. And he pulled it open. It made not a sound. Merlin grinned and drew in a deep breath.

"Mum-I'll-check-the-mail-and-be-back-for-lunch-don't-save-any-beans-for-me-bye!"

And before she could raise any objections, he was gone; down the weedy, overgrown front path and beside the mailbox in an instant.

"Merlin!" He heard his mother's voice from inside the house.

He wrenched open the little door and checked inside. A few letters, and few other things. Merlin looked through them. Bill. Bill. Newsletter. Catalog. Bill. Ah! Something with his name on it! Mr. Merlin Gwilt, in neat letters. A birthday card, perhaps?

"Merlin!" Merlin saw his mother stick her head out of the front kitchen window. "Come inside! I need to talk to you!"

"Can't" Merlin stuffed the thick envelope in his trouser pocket and threw the rest of the mail back in the mailbox. "I'll be back by lunch."

"Back by eleven, please!"

He sighed. Only so many good things could happen today. "Alright!"

"Close the front door!"

He didn't have time for this.

Merlin stared at the front door. And it closed, just like that. All by itself. Perfect.

"Wind got it. Bye, mum!"

And Merlin took off down a worn footpath into the trees. Finally, freedom! The forest enveloped him and the birdsong and splashes of sunlight through the treetops above painted the prettiest picture he had ever seen. It was like the forest knew it was his birthday and had dressed up in its summer finery. He dove deeper in and hoped he could have at least one adventure before eleven o'clock.

* * *

Hunith Gwilt pulled her head from out of the window, sighing, and trying to pull all her flyaway hairs out of her eyes. She turned her attention back to the beans simmering on the stove and stirred them before they burned. Satisfied breakfast was well on its way to being done, Hunith turned around to her guest.

"I'm sorry." The tea was ready by now and she took out the teabags. Handing one mug to the severe-looking lady sitting in her kitchen. "He's an energetic boy, just has to get it out of his system, you know. Boys."

"Oh, I do." The lady's voice had a slight lilt to it. Scottish, maybe. "I certainly do."

"And it's his birthday. But he'll be back by eleven. He's always on time. Will you be fine with waiting for a bit?" Hunith gulped a little of her scalding tea then realized she needed some milk in it. She opened the fridge. "Milk?"

"I have enough patience. And no, thank you, dear." The lady put up a hand.

Hunith poured a dash of milk in her tea and tried it again. Much better. "So, it's a school for boys like him. Gifted, I mean?" She leaned back on the kitchen counter.

The lady nodded. "Boys and girls. But yes, gifted may be the right word for it."

The guest was dressed in green robes, very formal-looking. Must be part of the uniform at the school. Hunith kept touching her own hair, noticing more and more the stained apron she wore and her bare feet, dirty with her gardening at sun-up. Not much to be done now to save the first impression. Hopefully the school didn't take her appearance or manners into account when considering Merlin's acceptance.

"Well, Miss…Headmas- Headmistress-"

"Please." The lady interrupted. "Minerva, is satisfactory for now." There was a hint of a smile.

"Ah, yes." Hunith took another gulp of her tea. "Miss Minerva… I know Merlin will be grateful for the opportunity. He's a keen learner."

Miss Minerva's eyes darted in the direction of the front door. "I noticed. He seems advanced for his age." Her mouth was a thin line.

"Yes." Hunith recalled how well Merlin had finished up this past school year. All his exams were 'top-notch', as his instructor had said. "They've offered to advance him an extra year, at his school. Of course I said no, a boy needs to be with others of his own age. But they still offered." Hunith suddenly remembered the beans and gave them another stir before turning back to her guest.

"I'm sure, I'm sure." Miss Minerva waved her hand and set her mug down on the kitchen table. "The front door closing, was that him, from all the way by the mailbox?"

The bottom dropped out of Hunith's stomach.

She had told Merlin, again and again.

She had thought that Miss Minerva hadn't noticed.

"What?" Hunith attempted what she hoped looked like a smile. "How could he? That was the wind. Timing was perfect, wasn't it?"

No one was allowed to see his little tricks, save her. No one.

That boy was going to be the death of her.

"Mrs. Gwilt- "

"Ms." Hunith heard herself correct Miss Minerva, out of habit, she supposed.

"Yes, of course, Ms. Gwilt, let's not beat about the bush. Merlin closed the door while he was standing out by the mailbox." The lady was no longer asking, she was telling. "He used magic and you know it." She promptly picked up her tea and took a sip, watching Hunith closely.

Hunith opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Miss Minerva continued, setting the large mug down on the table was a slight thud. "At Hogwarts such feats are not only accepted and encouraged, they are taught. But all this is beside the point. How long has Merlin been able to do that? Move things whenever he wished it?"

Hunith opened her mouth again, hesitated a moment, then turned off the beans. "Since he was born. Since forever."

Miss Minerva nodded.

Hunith looked back at the stove then to her guest. "Beans on toast?"

* * *

"Mr. Merlin Gwilt, the Little White Cottage on Tweed Lane, in the village of _, Northamptonshire, East Midlands, United Kingdom." Merlin read aloud. He frowned and turned the envelope over, picking at the red sealing wax that held it all together. "Bit accurate, aren't they?"

The squirrel just chittered at him.

Merlin looked over. He was probably too close to its nest. "Alright, alright." He tucked the envelope inside his pocket again and grabbed a branch above him. Slowly and carefully, he slithered out of the large tree. It was one he climbed a lot before, so he mulled over the letter as he climbed. He had originally climbed into the massive oak tree in order to catch his breath. He had run to the village and back two times and had already climbed a few trees before he settled on this one for his perch. He had been chased by a pack of hungry wolves, red tongues lolling about (neighbor's terriers), he had scaled a mountain (biggest hill he could find), forded a massive river (small creek), and still had time to read his letter before he headed back to the house for lunch.

Merlin settled on a slightly lower branch than the one that obviously belonged to a very territorial squirrel. He got comfortable, swinging his legs back and forth and resting his back against the trunk, and pulled out his letter again.

No return address. Hmm.

He slipped a few fingers under the thick paper and pried open the red wax seal. The letter inside was made of thick, heavy paper too. Parchment, he guessed. Merlin began to read:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall (Order of Merlin, First Class)

What kind of joke was this?

Dear Mr. Gwilt,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Merlin knew that he sat and stared at the letter for a long time, but exactly how long, he wasn't sure. Someone must had sent this as some sort of a prank or a bit of fun. Oh, funny Merlin, he belongs in a school with other wizards and witches like him! Oh, creepo Merlin, let's send him off to a fake school for other weirdos like him! List of necessary books and equipment, his arse!

Merlin tore open the second sheet of paper, fingers crumpling the edges. Robes?! He felt a heat behind his eyes. A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration?! There was a rushing in his ears but he wasn't sure why. And he wasn't sure why someone would do this. Or who. Like anyone at school cared enough about his existence to send him anything, much less something this detailed and weird. Oh look, a magic wand is required! The edges of the letter began to smoke and become charred and he pretended not to notice. But it was difficult not to.

Head pounding like it always did when he got angry, Merlin stuffed the papers together, creased them mercilessly, and shoved them into his pocket again. Not so much as a "Happy Birthday, Merlin". Wasn't worth even thinking about who he hoped it had been from. Someone he had hoped to meet for years. Wasn't worth it. It felt like there was a fire on his brow, just hovering there, flickering, burning.

Merlin climbed down from the tree but on the last branch his foot slipped. He fell the rest of the way.

It wasn't far. No, it wasn't far to the mud puddle he landed in at the base of the tree.

Merlin picked himself up and began making his way home. Was probably about eleven now. His new shirt was spotted with mud now. Some birthday this turned out to be: beans on toast, a joke letter, and mud. Bloody brilliant!

* * *

The front door opened and slammed closed. The sound of shoes being kicked off and hitting the floor. "Mum, I'm home!" A young voice rang out from the hall.

Ha! As if that wasn't evident!

Minerva took a sip of her second mug of weak tea and watched as a young boy entered the kitchen. Upon seeing her, he looked a touch more cautious, standing just inside the doorway, eyes flickering from his mother to Minerva herself.

Hunith wiped her hands on her apron. "Merlin, this is Headmistress Min- uh McGonagall, was it?"

Minerva stood slowly. "Yes, that's right."

"She runs a lovely boarding school for gifted kiddies, like you."

Minerva felt some small satisfaction as the unruly boy's face became pale and his already large eyes went from narrow to plate-sized. Minerva took this brief interlude of silence to examine the child. He was scrawny, extremely so. His nest of unkempt black hair sat above fair skin and blue eyes, eyes that were set inside a long face with cheekbones that would doubtless become more prominent with age. He wore a button-up shirt, new, since she could see a paper tag still clinging to it. But it was spattered with mud. And crumpled, sticking out of his jeans pocket, was the thick yellow parchment of a Hogwarts acceptance letter. Ah, so he had already read it. But how much did he understand? Strange, how the letter looked partially burned-

"Mum, what's going on?" There was a slight note of panic in Merlin's voice.

"Nothing, but- " Merlin's mother stopped. "Is that mud on your new shirt? Merlin?" She took a few steps closer to the boy.

"I fell." And Merlin stepped back. "I'm sorry. It'll wash out. Mum, I don't-"

Hunith sighed. "You fell? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, but-"

"Alright then. I was just making some sandwiches, would you like one?" Hunith took a sandwich from the counter, put it on a plate, and handed it to the child.

Merlin took the sandwich, knuckles white as he gripped the plate. "Mum, I don't want to go to boarding school!" The boy blurted this out in a hurry then looked immediately down to the kitchen floor.

Minerva sat back down. She wondered if Hunith had noticed that her son was on the brink of crying, lower lip trembling and eyes full of tears.

Hunith smiled and set another sandwich on a plate. "No one will force you, Merlin, calm yourself. Here," She pulled out a chair for the boy. Sit yourself down and say hello to Miss Minerva."

Merlin complied, sitting down with his plate. "Hello, Miss Minerva." He recited dully, eyes on the table.

"There, that's better." Hunith reached over and used the red kerchief tied around her son's neck to dab at his tears before returning to the kitchen counter and the sandwiches.

Minerva cleared her throat. "Merlin," She spoke. "Hogwarts is not simply a boarding school."

Merlin's eyes tore from the table and met McGonagall's own gaze. She watched him bite his lip and reach down to dig the letter from his pocket.

"Miss Minerva, would you like a sandwich?" Hunith was tidying up her spreads and crumbs, since the sandwiches were ready.

Merlin set the crumpled letter on the table. "What kind of school is it?"

Minerva set her jaw and answered both questions by deftly flicking the wand she had been grasping for the past half hour in her sleeve and levitating the plates with the remaining sandwiches and depositing them on the kitchen table. Both mother and son stared without another word, watching the progress of the floating plates with obviously some fascination. Minerva allowed herself a small smirk, internal of course, due to the fact that she had shut both of them up. Hopefully, now they would allow her to fully explain the situation without further interruption.

"There now. Ms. Gwilt, if you will have a seat. We will all have lunch and I will explain everything." McGonagall spoke as briskly as she dared to, she needed to retain control of the conversation but not appear too intimidating, something of which she had been reminded, time and time again.

Hunith obediently sat at the table with Merlin and Minerva, folded her hands, and remained silent.

Minerva looked to Merlin, who nodded without a word as well.

Minerva took this to be her cue and began."Merlin, your name is quite accurate, you are a wizard." The boy opened his mouth and Minerva suddenly felt very tired of it all, but she paused and allowed him to speak. "Yes?"

He spoke quickly, all in a rush. "I didn't know there was a name for it. I just thought I was…" He trailed off.

"What, boy?" Minerva sighed. "If you're going to speak, finish your thoughts, please."

"Just thought I was… funny, or odd." He mumbled.

"Well, you are not." McGonagall sniffed. "You are a perfectly normal wizard boy, in fact, a little advanced for your age. I saw you close that door, young man."

Merlin at least had the decency to lower his eyes to his sandwich.

"From so far away and without a word or a wand, no less." She continued. "Do you do things like that often, Merlin?" She had to know. How could he have been doing magic his whole life, and yet remained here, unheard of and oblivious to the Wizarding World?

"No, not really." There was that mumbling again.

"Tell the truth."

"It's ok, Merlin." Hunith reached out and rubbed her son's shoulder. "You can trust, Miss Minerva, like you trust me."

"How often do strange things happen around you? Doors closing, for instance, all by themselves? Or the colors of objects changing without explanation?" Minerva reiterated.

"It happens whenever I want it to." The boy spoke softly and met McGonagall's firm gaze. "I know I shouldn't, but it feels…normal, I dunno, to me." His fingers were playing with the edges of the crumpled letter on the table, touching the charred ends.

"It is normal for you, dear boy, have no fear." Minerva sighed. "However, there are laws that we witches and wizards must follow with regard to magic, specifically to keep non-magical folk from seeing our magic. It's a secret." She reached over and took the ruined acceptance letter from his hand. "So we'll have no more of that for the time being. You must restrain yourself until you can be taught to control it."

"What's that?" Hunith watched Minerva smooth out the letter on the table.

"His acceptance letter from Hogwarts." Minerva shot a side glance at Merlin. "I take it that you read it."

"I thought it was a joke." Merlin took a small bite from his sandwich. "Wait, does that mean it's illegal for mum to see my…me doing stuff like that?"

"Magic." Minerva corrected the boy. "You do magic, Merlin. And no, it's not necessarily illegal for your mother to see you do magic, she's your guardian and has to know about your talents. However, you can't show it to just any person on the street. Now, as you read in your letter-"

Merlin had eaten some more of his cheese and pickle sandwich and spoke around it when he interrupted McGonagall again. "What if I want to save someone's life and me doing-…me doing magic is like the only way I can…" Merlin swallowed his bite of sandwich. "Save their life, I mean. Like push them out of the way of a car, really fast. Something like that. What then? Is that illegal too?"

"Mr. Gwilt, you can certainly learn more about magical law at Hogwarts if you so wish, but I cannot lecture you on it here and now. We must proceed, if you please!" Minerva shook the letter at Merlin. He had set down his sandwich and appeared to be wilting under her words.

"You have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry because you are a wizard and by turning eleven years old today you have come of age to attend classes there. I strongly recommend you decide to enroll, Mr. Gwilt. You are quite gifted and I feel you will be doing yourself and your mother a disservice by ignoring your gifts. Term starts the first of September and ends the third week of June." McGonagall stood up, refolding the acceptance letter so that it could fit neatly back into the envelope in which it came. All the while, she kept speaking as firm and as fast as she dared, trying to ensure no more interruptions or sidetracks.

"You will undergo seven years of training and guidance then you will graduate as a fully functional wizard, able to pursue whatever career you feel suits you best, whether it be one associated with magic or one that exists in the non-magical world. I hope this is clear, now, what is your answer? Will you enroll, Mr. Gwilt?" She took a deep breath once she finished her speech, staring down at the young boy.

There was a brief pause between Minerva's words and Hunith's, who broke the silence.

"Miss. Minerva?" The adult woman sounded rather like a schoolgirl at this moment and Minerva almost regretted her harsh delivery.

"Ms. Gwilt?"

"Merlin has just turned twelve today, not eleven. Will being a year late be a bother?" Hunith spoke slowly.

There must be some sort of mistake. Minerva's mind raced. Twelve?

"I want to do it." Merlin stood up too. "I want to go."

"Twelve years?" Minerva wondered what she had done wrong. The Quill had written him down, clear as day: 'Merlin Gwilt, 25 of June, 1991'. But the Quill and Book had never been wrong before. Not in centuries of use, not once-

"Can he still go?" Hunith asked again. "Is he too old?"

"No, no." Minerva fought to bring her mind back to the present. "No, of course not. Of course he can go, Ms. Gwilt. I apologize." How could this have happened? "I must have made a mistake myself when sending out letters last year. But we can easily rectify this." Yes, tend to the situation at hand. The boy was staring up at her, his mother holding his hand while they waited on her words.

Minerva addressed the young wizard. "Merlin, most students start when they are eleven years old. I feel at this point you have two choices. You may either go to Hogwarts and start your first year as a twelve year old, which is nothing to be ashamed of, or the professors of Hogwarts and I can take the next two months to bring you up to speed, tutor you, so to speak, so that you may start your second year in September. You will be a little behind and will need to work hard. "

"Mum?" Merlin looked back at his mother.

"This is your choice." Hunith smiled up at her son.

"I know." The boy replied. "But what you think?"

Hunith's answer was expected. "I think you'll make a good choice, no matter what." Clear words of a mother, Minerva observed silently in some corner of her mind.

Merlin looked back and forth from his mother to McGonagall a few times. Bit his lip. "I want-…" He faltered a little. "I want to learn, more than anything. Can I have the tutoring, please….uh, Headmistress." He finally remembered her title, for once. But Minerva hadn't really paid it any mind.

"Absolutely." Minerva nodded and held out her hand to the young boy. He took it and shook it. "Merlin Gwilt, welcome to Hogwarts." And Minerva felt a little flutter in her chest when she saw Merlin's first real smile. "I will contact you by post on what additional materials you may need, most are in your letter, and then I will draw up a schedule of tutoring dates for you to approve. It will be hard work, but none of my colleagues will rest until they feel you have ample experience to start your second year this coming September." Minerva released the boy's hand and straightened her robes. "Thank you very much, Ms. Gwilt for the tea and the sandwiches. I must be going for today but you and Merlin shall hear from me soon." And she started making her way to the front door.

Merlin and Hunith followed her. She opened the door to the outside and turned around before exiting. "Have you any more brief questions, Mr. Gwilt?" She followed up her query with a small smile, watching the boy ponder a moment.

"I dunno, I always wondered…" Merlin Gwilt spoke slowly, blue eyes watching McGonagall, and his mother's hand came down on his small, thin shoulder and squeezed. "Was there ever a Merlin, you know, way back then? Was he a real guy?"

The boy certainly had a name to live up to. Minerva inclined her head. "Yes, Merlin is known as one of the greatest wizards of all time. He exists not just in our legends but in our history books as well. He was real guy."

"Wow." And Merlin the boy gave one of the biggest ear-to-ear grins that Minerva had ever seen.


	2. Ringing Phones

Chapter 2: Ringing Phones

* * *

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

City of Westminster, London, UK

About quarter to five in the morning

* * *

He had that dream again last night.

There was screaming and dust. And he always tried to open his mouth and scream too. But there was too much dust. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't see. Flashes of light. Stumbling over rubble. The people he saw, covered in dust, looked like ghosts. So did the bodies. He was trying to scream for her. But nothing would come out of his mouth. His voice didn't work. No air in his lungs.

He had that dream again last night. How long had it been since he had it last? Days, weeks,… years? He didn't know. In fact, he had stopped trying to know. The dream was so normal and natural and organically entrenched in his life and mind that he was just phasing it out of his consciousness now. What was that? Isn't there a word for that? Maybe it was 'desensitization'. He had become desensitized to it? No, there's another word for it. He'd had too many psychology electives to not remember this. Arthur rolled over, putting a hand out in the dark. Where's the phone? Ah! And he promptly knocked it off the bedside table and it clattered onto the floor.

"Mmmpppfff!" He groaned, leaned over, and picked it up. The screen blinded him. Squinting, he typed in a few search words into the browser app. There it is. He found it.

Habituation, isn't it?

Habituation: a phenomenon where an organism acclimates to, and stops responding to, any stimuli that are not necessary to give attention to. For example, animals can habituate to loud noises that occur repeatedly once they know that there will be no side-effects to ignoring them.

Yeah. That's what this dream was at this point.

He squinted at the time. Eight and a half minutes until his alarm would go off. Might as well…

Arthur stuffed his phone under his pillow and accidentally disconnected it from the charger. It beeped cheerily at him. "Mmmm!" He responded and closed his eyes again, pressing his face close to the pillow. Lord, his bed was so comfortable right now! Why couldn't it be this comfortable when he was trying to sleep-

His phone rang. Both vibrating and peeping out a jingle, straight through the pillow, and into his ear.

Too bad he hadn't habituated to ringing phones yet.

It was death:thirty and he felt like five…wait, no. Arthur wiped some crust from his eye as he slammed the door to his flat closed. It was 5:30am and he felt like death. That sounded a bit more plausible. He locked the door, swung his bag over his shoulder, and walked down the front steps in a manner that, on reflection, probably looked like a man walking to his own execution. In his defense, he reasoned, there had been no time to brew any coffee. He'd have to get it at the office. And that was a fairly frigid walk away. Still cold outside. He watched his breath fog and flow away behind him as he walked. March was that kind of month. A really terrible month, rather.

"Mr. Pendragon!"

That was his name… unfortunately.

"Yes?" Arthur turned around, finding just enough effort to make a small smile.

"Mr. Pendragon, hello." A small woman, white hair tightly wound in a bun, and tiny hands clutching a purse was suddenly beside him. "I'd like a moment of your time, I'm sure you're a very busy man." She spoke fast, the rhythm a flurry. She had probably been rehearsing this.

And she was a little too close. Arthur took a step back and kept the smile on his face, sticking out his hand to shake hers. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Ms.-?" He trailed off a little. Arthur cringed inwardly. He knew who she was and his predecessor had warned him about her.

"Mrs. Collins, Mrs. Mary Collins, Mr. Pendragon." Mary shook his hand and quickly let go. "Now, Mr. Pendragon, you may have heard of my son, Thomas James Collins, he was present, or rather a witness to, the Whitehall Explosion. Well…"

And the woman went on for another minute or so while Arthur internally corrected her phrasing. It was the 'Whitehall Attack', or rather, the 'Whitehall Toilet Attack', as the papers had called it. A whole two months had passed by but he was still being heckled by crazies claiming that Thomas Collins was innocent. He wasn't. Mrs. Collins was just about finished up now and Arthur pulled his attention back to her words.

"…and all possible avenues seem to have been pursued but nothing has come of it. My son is still in prison." Mrs. Collins took a breath, maybe the first since she had started speaking, and continued. "Now, if you could just please speak to your father about-"

There it is. There's the point of this.

"Mrs. Collins-" He began.

She cut him off. "Mr. Pendragon!" Her face had gone white and her back was ramrod straight. So she seemed almost imposing despite being just about a full thirty or so centimeters shorter than him. "My son has been proven innocent and the explosion was just a… a malfunction of a piece of machinery he was disposing of. Everything was legal." She was just about to start crying, sputtering and tripping over her words. "There was just a little too much juice, too much power in the machine. It w-wasn't his fault. There has been, was, a proper investigation and, and-"

Arthur was dreading today at the office, but honestly, anything would be better than this.

He held up his hand and had to break in again. "I'm sorry, about your son, and what he's become mixed up in. I'm very sorry. But the official investigation is still ongoing and the findings, well, what has been found so far has been published in the papers daily." Arthur took a few steps back, angling his body away. Anything, even work, would be better than this. "I'm afraid what concerns you have, or what worries, you have to take up with your solicitor. My father, I cannot speak to him of this in my capacity, and if I did, there is little he can do to prove Thomas' innocence."

"He can let him go free!"

Mrs. Collins followed Arthur as he began to walk down the street, her voice increasing in volume, echoing off the buildings.

"Your father has him locked up and won't let him free. Thomas has done nothing wrong." Mary Collins was spitting her words at Arthur's back now. "This is just petty revenge!"

Yep, she was a looney.

Arthur just kept walking. "Speak with your solicitor, Mrs. Collins!" He called back to her and left the crazy woman behind, walking as quick as he could.

Arthur made the seven minute walk to the tube station in record time, only just catching the next train by a hairsbreadth, slipping in the closing doors. He had just finished panting from his brisk walk when they reached the Westminster Station. And he had another several minute walk until he reached Whitehall and then, finally, Downing Street. His face was probably red and blotchy when he showed up and showed his ID to the guards at the gates. They had already greeted him with a "Good morning, Mr. Pendragon," before he'd even had the chance to pull the damned thing out of his pocket.

Moments later he was knocking on the door to his boss's office. He was a mess; his hair stuck up at odd angles and his suit hung haphazardly on his sweaty frame. The building was stirring by now. He could hear footsteps going to and fro downstairs, voices muffled, doors opening and closing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could still hear the screams of his nightmare this morning, heard the rubble shifting in the distance. And that smell. It stuck in his nose. The smell of-

The door opened just as he finished straightening his hair and adjusting his suit. Arthur sighed. "Good morning, Prime Minister."

Uther Pendragon stood aside and let Arthur in. "It's 6:00am, I called you at 5."

"You called me at 4:52." Arthur closed the door behind him. "And I was delayed. That woman, the one Geoffrey kept complaining about," Arthur threw his bag on the sofa. "She ambushed me when I left my flat."

The Prime Minister had sat at his small breakfast table by now, the paper open before him. "She's harmless." He grunted, looking the news over. "Breakfast?"

"No, thank you." Arthur flopped down on the sofa beside his bag.

"Are you sure?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. "I've eaten." No messages. Yet.

"No, you haven't. Nightmares again?"

Arthur met his father's eyes. The man was watching him closely. A few moments passed.

"You're still nervous?" Uther asked, breaking the silence, before folding up his paper and standing.

"I'm not-"

"You've got no reason to be." The Prime Minister straightened his dressing gown. "You're the best man for the job and you know it. It's only your third day, son. You will catch up." He retreated to his bedroom, calling. "What have we got laid out for us today?"

Arthur stared after the man for a moment, working his jaw, before opening his bag and pulling out the day planner.

"Well?" His father called.

"A lot."

"Business as usual, then?"

The hours passed sluggishly. A meeting here in this room, and a meeting here in that room, and then back to this room for a briefing, and so on and so forth. Each task was filled with so much excruciating minutiae that Arthur had to be constantly focused at all times and never able to take a breather. And the coffee never seemed to come. Where was the damn coffee? He didn't dare open his mouth to complain about it, however, he was trying not to give the impression of a bored, petulant child.

By the time noon rolled around, he felt very much like going back to bed. Hadn't this been a full day? What a shock he'd had when he glanced at the clock and understood that only half of the day was over. And days rarely ended once one went home. Especially when one was working for the Prime Minister. He'd gratefully accepted the lunch break that the Prime Minister offered but declined to take it in his father's flat.

"Upstairs I've got some lovely sandwiches that Julie made yesterday. You know Julie, she used to make you those cookies whenever you came with me to work." His father was persistent in his offers.

Arthur shook his head slowly and sighed. "Yes, I remember Julie." And no, he'd much prefer to escape this hellhole and have a few moments peace. What with his roiling stomach from nerves and headache from lack of coffee this morning, any sort of food sounded repulsive. "I'm going back to my place. I'll be back around 1:30." Just a cup of coffee and a lie down sounded perfect.

"Make it 1:00, please." The Prime Minister prompted.

Arthur nodded. "Alright, alright, 1:00."

"Thank you." During the conversation, his father had barely looked up from the document he was reviewing and correcting with a red pen.

Arthur descended the staircase, fought his way outside into the street, and finally got a breath of fresh air in the form of a frigid March wind. Arthur pulled his coat tighter about himself and began to walk to the tube station. Briefly, he regretted not accepting the Prime Minister's offer of a chauffeur to and from work. Would be a lot warmer. A lot less effort. But it soon disappeared. Didn't need to further convince the public of his father's nepotism. Uther Pendragon didn't care what the papers or the radios or the little old ladies in their parlors said about him hiring his son as Chief of Staff. Arthur Pendragon did though. And he accordingly tried to put forth a humble image. By taking public transport.

He had reached the tube station by now, cringing inwardly.

None of it looked good, honestly.

Rich boy, good education, a minister's son and born into the political life, cushy apartment in Mayfair, and the right-hand seat at daddy's side.

Yeah, taking public transport will solve that awful image. This extremely high profile job would probably be the death of his career. And he'd barely even started.

Arthur slammed into someone. "Aargh!" He stumbled back.

The stupid kid had been staring at his mobile.

"Excuse you!" Arthur spat at the boy.

And the boy in the red jumper looked up from the ground at him. "S-sorry, I'm sorry!" He stuttered, scrambling to his feet. His bag swung wildly and seemed to be making things difficult. Clumsy, like a newborn horse.

Arthur rolled his eyes and walked around the kid and entered the station.

He got off the tube at Green Park and headed in the direction of his flat on Hill Street. Once he turned onto his street, he felt his heart rate quicken. There she was. Again! The woman from this morning was standing by the entrance to his apartment building. Just standing there. How long-? Why did she-? Arthur didn't even want to know. He may have to resort to calling the police if she was going to continue this. And that wouldn't look good for him. At this point, nothing looked good for him.

Better play it safe, Arthur.

He was walking towards her at this point. He couldn't avoid it. She'd seen him as soon as he turned onto Hill Street.

"Mr. Pendragon!" Mrs. Collins began when he was close enough. "I realize I may have overstepped my bounds this morning."

You think? And that's not what you're doing now? By stalking me?!

Arthur nodded but chose to say nothing. He didn't trust himself to remain civil too much longer.

"However, I want to appeal to your empathy. My son has been wrongly accused, and locked up, his good name dragged through the mud." She held her hands out to him, palms up, almost pleading. "I'm just doing what any mother would do. Please, see if-"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Collins." Arthur shook his head. "This issue is out of my hands and not in my power-"

"Your father, he is the one!" The mother burst out. "He has orchestrated this to keep my son from being let free. He hasn't done anything wrong-"

"The Prime Minister-" Arthur began.

"He is innocent!"

"The Prime Minister is allowing the incident to travel through the proper channels so justice can be served, as is his job." Arthur could feel a flush creeping into his cheeks. Some people walking by were staring. This needed to end now. "Now, if you'll excuse me-" He turned to his front door.

Mary Collins latched onto the strap of Arthur's bag, preventing him from pulling away, and didn't seem to be letting go anytime soon. "I'm his mother. I love him. You of all people should understand a mother's love!"

For a brief moment, Arthur's disbelief occupied his mind. Has she really just said that? Had she just dared to say that? But the surprise was fading away soon and he felt himself go cold. Cold and dusty. He could smell the dust, even now, although it had been years since that day. Felt himself turn around to face her. He knew he opened his mouth but he didn't know what he was about to say. He was watching from afar by this point.

"Mrs. Collins." He began. "Please let go of my bag, or I will call the police." Thank god. That wasn't so bad.

The woman did, however, let go of his bag strap. Thank god. "You must understand." She continued. "What your mother did, and what I'm willing to do. Please, try to-"

"No, you try to understand." Arthur leaned in. "If you are here when I come back downstairs in an hour, I will have you arrested, and I will place a restraining order on your person. Good day." And as quick as he could, he unlocked the door, slipped inside, and shut it again.

Well, that wasn't as bad as it could have been, he reflected. At least he hadn't used any foul language. The bitch! He stood there in the front hall for a moment or two. Just breathing. Yeah, breathe. That's… that's rather important. Arthur pulled out his phone and gave it a glance. Two missed calls and a text from his father.

Be back by 12:30 please and thank you

Arthur looked at the clock on his phone and groaned, a small laugh escaping his lips. It was already 12:27pm. Well, no rest for the… well, the group of people who never get rest, he supposed. Politicians, in this case. Him, for instance. Arthur shoved his phone back in his pocket, turned on his heel, and headed right back outside.

The woman was still hanging around out there because of course she was. She called his name as he was locking the door. Called out again as he started walking away.

"Mr. Pendragon!"

Arthur kept walking.

"Mr. Pendragon, please!"

Just keep walking. Don't acknowledge.

"We saved your kind and this is how you repay us?!"

This crazy bitch. Your kind? Whatever the hell that meant.

Arthur kept walking.

* * *

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Euston Station, London, UK

Just about half past eleven in the morning, to be precise, 11:28am

* * *

Merlin pulled the knitted jumper over his head and, after seeing his fluffed hair and ugly, pale face in the mirror, resisted making an even uglier face. His was bad enough already. In his defense, the knit jumper was just as ugly as his face. But it was warm. And London was not. After getting off the train, the cold, arctic blast had hit him full in the face and quickly made him shiver in his short sleeves. Was March always this cold? He had ducked into the nearest lavatory to change.

Remember to thank mum for the ugly jumper and make sure remind her of it's hideousness a few more times after that. Very important mental note.

He gave his reflection another quick glance. The bright red of the jumper brought out his pink, cold cheeks and contrasted sharply with his otherwise pale face and dark hair. Lovely. He was tempted to change it's color. Very tempted. But he resisted. Merlin stuck a hand down the neck of the thickly knitted material and pulled out the kerchief he'd been wearing, knotted around his neck. There. Red jumper, blue scarf. He looked like some character out of a bloody children's picture book. Well, he looked like maybe the villain. He didn't look nice. He didn't look like someone who had adventures. Not like a hero.

Well, this was getting depressing.

Merlin picked up his bag from the floor and left the public lavatory. Gaius, his mother's brother, was supposed to be here and waiting for him. But Merlin had already had a look around and hadn't found him yet. Maybe he was late. Merlin dug around in his pocket and brought out his mobile. Ahh! It was at 40 percent charge already. Shit. He pressed Gaius's contact and put the phone to his ear. It rang for the longest time while Merlin stood awkwardly in the middle of the station. And then it went to voicemail. Great. Bloody great!

Merlin shoved the phone back in his pocket and began making his way out of the station. What was he going to do now? Keep waiting? Once outside his stomach growled even before he had noticed the restaurants across the way.

Too bad your arse is poor. He had to save the little money his mother had given him.

Merlin sighed, looked for a bench, and sat down. He looked at his phone again. Tried calling Gaius again. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Lovely. Bloody lovely.

Sure, I'd be happy to have your son come live with me. Don't mind me while I don't remember he's coming! La-dee-dah! My name is Gaius and I'm a daft old man!

Merlin snorted a little. That had been a bit petty.

And if he was going to talk big he may as well act big. He got up from the bench and approached the nearest passerby. "Hey, could you tell me where the nearest tube station is?"

"You go down that way a bit." The man pointed off in some direction. "Called Euston Square."

"Cheers."

"Good luck."

Merlin hiked his bag further up on his shoulder and began to walk in the direction the man had pointed. Took some time, but he found it, about several minutes away.

Now he had to decipher which line to take. This had never been his strong suit.

It looked like the Circle line, and then the Jubilee line after, would take him close to Gaius's apartment. He paid the fare with the little money that his mother had given him this morning, got on the train, switched lines once, then got off at Westminster station. The whole trip took about half an hour. His stomach was cramping hard by now. He hadn't eaten since the night before.

He had been too nervous to eat this morning because his mum was fussing over every little thing, saying she was having second thoughts, and Merlin was having to say he was okay with all of it, but he wasn't okay with all of it because if she was sending him away then things weren't okay, but she kept saying things were okay and that wasn't true, and he knew she was probably better off without him, and oh god-

Merlin took a deep breath. The cold air chilled his insides.

Okay.

Now what?

He took out his phone again. No calls from Gaius and his mobile was down to 25 percent battery charge. He opened up a map app and desperately hoped it would get him to Gaius's apartment before it died completely. He was just figuring out what street he needed to turn on to when he met another person. And by meet, he walked straight into them. Merlin felt like he'd walked into a brick wall, however, but discovered he was mistaken when he found himself looking up at a blonde, frowning businessman.

"Excuse you!" The man was working his jaw, staring down at him.

He apologized. "S-sorry! I'm sorry." Merlin hurried to his feet, stumbling a little. "I was…"

But the man was already walking off and disappearing into the tube station.

Just one word and he could knock that man on his ass too. He needed it. Some people needed to hit the ground sometimes. Hard. Merlin gritted his teeth. The urge passed. Finally. He sighed, dusted himself off, and looked at his phone again. Back to the task at hand.

No time to murder people, Merlin. You've got a forgetful uncle to find.

Gaius's apartment was about a seven minute walk from here. He was close. Not too far at all. Merlin closed the map on his mobile and tried calling his uncle again. And again, no answer. Brilliant. What was the point of having a phone if you never used it?

The walk slipped by quickly and Merlin soon found himself before the gates of Downing Street.

Yeah.

He had known that his uncle lived here. But still, it was a bit hard to process until you were standing in front of it.

A few policeman stood there, guarding the gate. Well, there was no getting through. They were giving him funny looks and Merlin walked to the side, out of their territory. He didn't need to be getting in trouble again. And so soon. He'd be setting some sort of record. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket again and pressed the power button. Nothing. He pressed it again. And again, nothing. Shit!

He raised his hand to dash the brains of his stupid phone against the pavement.

Took a deep breath.

Okay.

Just think.

He put the phone back in his pocket and approached the policemen. "Hey." Despite his smile and forced relaxed posture, Merlin's heart rate was through the roof. It felt like the policemen already knew. Felt like he was already a suspect. He hadn't done anything but he felt guilty. He swallowed hard. "My uncle's s'posed to meet me here around now-ish, but my mobile's dead. Think I could borrow one of yours, to call him?"

They eyed him. They eyed his bag. Merlin felt guilty but he didn't have a reason to.

"Sure." One of the policemen pulled out a chunky phone and handed it to Merlin. "Make it quick."

"Right, yeah, thanks!" Merlin nodded and punched in Gaius's number. Had to be some sort of trick. He hadn't fooled them. They knew. They knew something. The phone was ringing. It was only a matter of time. Merlin looked back to the policemen. They were both staring at him. Yeah. He hadn't fooled anyone. He was always laid so bare. The line clicked.

"Hello?" Came that deep voice.

Gaius, thank god.

"Hey, it's-…it's me." Merlin grinned in relief.

"Who?"

"Uh, Merlin."

One of the policemen sniggered. Merlin ignored it. That was the default response to his name.

A pause. "Hunith's son?" Gaius asked.

"Yes!"

Another pause. "But you're not meant to be here till Wednesday!"

Merlin rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "It…it's Wednesday."

"Well." The voice on the other end of the line harrumphed a little and there was some throat-clearing. "You'd better come up then."

"Okay." Merlin laughed a little, it was just ridiculous enough, and he was also feeling relieved now. "How?"

"I'll be down in a minute." The line clicked again and Gaius was gone.

Merlin held out the phone to the nice policeman who'd let him borrow it. "Thanks."

The policeman nodded. The other asked. "He coming?"

"Yeah." Merlin adjusted his bag and looked down at the pavement. "I'll just wait here then."

"You visiting? Seeing the sights?" The policeman on the left asked.

"Comin' to stay with my uncle for a bit. Mum's got tired of me. Heh." Merlin forced a grin, something he hoped looked roguish. "Real nice of him though."

Policeman on the right returned his smile. "He live here in London?"

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, close by."

"Right, right."

Merlin shoved his hands in his pockets. A few moments passed. "So d'you, just, you know, stand around all day? Watching people?"

"Yeah." Right Policeman crossed his arms. "And sometimes we arrest loiterers."

"Really?" Merlin gulped.

Both men of the law were silent for a minute before grinning again. "Nah, kid, just messing with you." Left Policeman replied.

"Oh, right." Merlin tried to smile back and fought down four simultaneous heart attacks. That may had shaved a year or so off his life. He'd probably turned some uncomfortable shade of green. "Yeah, you had me, you did."

A couple more minutes passed.

"Is, uh-" Righty was speaking again. "Is your name really 'Merlin'?"

Merlin scratched the back of his head. "Yeah."

"What's the story behind that?"

Merlin thought a moment then shrugged. "Mum's a hippie?"

"Merlin!"

Merlin craned his neck, looking through the bars of the gates. Both policemen turned around too. Gaius was there, on the other side, waving at him.

Merlin waved back. He didn't try to fight back his smile.

Gaius was an older man. His short, thinning hair was silver with age and he looked near sixty years old. He was mum's extremely older brother from their father's first marriage. But Merlin recognized those blue eyes and long face, he'd seen the same in his own face and his mother's face. And the ears! The Gwilt ears. The man had aged considerably since he'd last seen him. But to be fair, that had been over ten years ago during some random birthday party of his that he couldn't remember. But Gaius still had that same severe crooked-looking stare, one eyebrow perpetually raised as if constantly questioning the words of those around him. Merlin remembered having that look directed at him whenever he'd been about to commit some mischief. If anything, that stare had spurred him on more.

Gaius had some sort of ID card that he showed to the policemen and they let Merlin through. Mr. Policeman-on-the-Right nodded to Gaius. "Dr. Gwilt." And Mr. Policeman-on-the-Left waved to Merlin. "Good luck." He said.

"Thanks!" Merlin called back.

The gate clanged shut again.

And before he could say another word, Merlin felt himself wrapped up in hug. He should probably hug back. He raised his hands and embraced the old man too. "Good to see you."

"Dear boy, it's lovely to see you too." Gaius broke the hug and held Merlin at arms length. "How was the trip? Why didn't you call me when your train arrived?"

Merlin shrugged. He didn't feel up to explaining. "Oh, trip was fine. Felt like a walk after sittin' that long, so I wandered over here."

"Well." Gaius patted Merlin's shoulder and began walking back from where he came. "It's good to finally have you here."

"Yeah." Merlin smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

The walk down the street was fairly short. They stopped before a door with a gold number on the front, the number 12.

Merlin hesitated when Gaius opened the door and held it for him. "Weird…I mean, that you live here. Is it weird?"

"No." Gaius shook his head. "It is necessary that I'm near the Prime Minister, just like any other personal doctor. Now, hop on in."

"You sure?" Merlin shifted the bag on his back. "That it's okay? I could find a hotel or something…" He trailed off, mumbling.

"Nonsense." Gaius took Merlin's shoulder and steered him inside. "I've gotten Uther's permission and I've already made up the room, Merlin, in you get!"

And Merlin entered Number 12 Downing Street, holding his breath and terribly hungry.


	3. Pax Magicus

Chapter 3: Pax Magicus

* * *

Thursday, June 27, 2002

A small village about 40 minutes drive outside of Northampton, UK.

About half past eight in the morning.

* * *

Mr. Gwilt,

You will find your accelerated tutoring schedule enclosed:

1.) On Mondays you will have Charms lessons with Professor Filius Flitwick

2.) On Tuesdays you will you will have Potions lessons with Professor Horace Slughorn

3.) On Wednesdays you will you will have Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons with Professor William Weasley

4.) On Thursdays you will you will have Transfiguration lessons with Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

5.) On Fridays you will study your texts and complete assignments for History of Magic

6.) On Saturdays you will study your texts and complete assignments for Astronomy

7.) On Sundays you will study your texts and complete assignments for Herbology

This schedule will go into effect on the 1 st of July.

Please be ready and waiting at the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road on the 30 th of June at ten in the morning (sharp!) for your escort. You will be purchasing your school supplies and equipment. In addition to this, please bring your previous letter from Hogwarts and what funds you deem appropriate to purchase your supplies; the correct exchanges will be made later. If you have any additional questions, please write them down and send them back with the owl that brought this letter originally. Her name is Pax.

Yours Sincerely,

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Merlin looked to the owl that had landed beside him as he was playing out in the front yard just minutes earlier. It had large ear tufty things and an unhappy, pinched expression, brown and yellow feathers, and seemed a bit ruffled-looking. It met his eyes. Merlin smirked. And took a deep breath.

"MOM!"

The owl started and flapped angrily. Lost a few feathers too. Wings brushed his face.

"I GOT A LETTER!" He called towards the house.

Merlin got up and brushed off his trousers. He had been poking about in the dirt before the owl landed beside him. And he jogged inside.

"That's nice, lovey." His mom was standing at the counter, doing something. "I'm off to work in a bit."

"Okay." Merlin went to the alcove with the telephone and grabbed a piece of paper from the notepad they had there. And with a dying pen he wrote a little note. Then he dashed back outside. The owl was still sitting on the fencepost, looking very offended.

Merlin held out the note to it. "Pax?"

The owl snatched the paper in her foot and lifted off into the air, silent and soft. She was soon flying away. Merlin grinned and watched her disappear. He stood there afterwards for a bit.

"Back by eight, lovey, have some lunch and don't eat so late, you'll ruin dinner." His mom kissed his hair.

"'Kay."

She was walking away, down the dirt road, towards town. "Behave yourself, don't go too far."

"'Kay."

She was disappearing around the bend in the road. "Love you!"

"Love you, mum!" Merlin just grinned, staring at the blue sky.

* * *

Sunday, June 30, 2002

The Leaky Cauldron, Charing Cross Road, London

Exactly quarter past ten in the morning.

* * *

Minerva sipped her tea and looked back at the note that she had received the other day, lying on the table before her. Pax had brought it, a little torn and poked through with talons, and then flown right off. Obviously, something had upset her. But then, pretty much anything upset that constantly flustered owl. Minerva unfolded the paper again, maybe for the tenth or so time. The messy scrawl read:

Headmistress,

Nothing to say. Just wanted to send something with the owl. Very cool!

\- Merlin

The paper was bright pink and had been torn from a pad. Probably one for taking notes. It was lined and there were colorful patterns of flowers all around the edges. And in the top right corner there was a picture of a ridiculously fluffy kitten with the words underneath: While you were Meowt! Minerva smiled.

"Headmistress!"

Minerva McGonagall looked up and there was young Merlin Gwilt standing there just a few steps inside the doorway. A few other patrons noticed him too. His mop of black hair was ruffled and he was dressed in the shirt she had first seen him in. The mud stains were missing, however.

"We're late." Merlin turned and waved to something outside the door then turned back to McGonagall. "Sorry. Mum just couldn't- Come on!" Merlin jumped outside and reappeared a moment later, his mum in tow, leading her by the hand.

"Goodness!" Hunith Gwilt was no longer barefoot, wearing some trainers now, Minerva noted. And Merlin's mother stared, at the floor, at the walls, at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I thought…well I don't know what-" She was stammering a little, pulled towards Minerva's table by Merlin.

"No matter." Minerva was about finished with her tea anyway. Just in time. They both stood before her now, panting and red-faced.

"We ran." Merlin huffed. But he was all smiles, eyes darting a million ways then back to her every so often.

McGonagall gathered herself and pushed in her chair. "I see that." She nodded at the landlady behind the bar. "Thank you, Ms. Abbot. Give Mr. Longbottom my regards and congratulations to you both."

The blond girl lowered her eyes to the mug she was drying and, if possible, turned even pinker. "Thank you, Headmistress." She bobbed her head and kept her gaze on her work.

"Mr. Gwilt and Ms. Gwilt, if you will follow me." And McGonagall led the way to the back of the pub and held the door as Merlin and Hunith entered the grubby back alley that featured a crumbling red brick wall. She let the door close and walked to the wall there, pulling out her wand.

"What's this?"

Minerva stopped and turned about. She saw only Ms. Gwilt, who was staring at the wall. Where was Merlin? For a brief moment, Minerva twisted around until she noticed that the boy was close by, right beside her, standing at her elbow. "Ah, Mr. Gwilt." Merlin was examining at the wall too. "This is the entrance to Diagon Alley."

"Diagonally?" He stepped close to the wall and touched one of the bricks.

"No." And she prodded him away from the wall. "Stand back, if you please."

"Oh, sorry." He moved back and stood beside his mother.

Minerva counted softly under her breath and tapped the intended brick. And slowly, as though the wall were performing the act for someone new every time, almost putting on a show, the wall formed a hole in the middle, melted away, and an archway appeared. She looked to the Gwilts again.

Hunith stared up at the new archway.

Merlin stared through it.

Moments later they were meandering through Diagon Alley, slowly working their way through the crowds and past many doubtlessly interesting sights as they headed towards Gringotts. Minerva could feel Merlin almost vibrating beside her as they walked, asking several questions before she had even got through answering the current one. At this point, she was not worried about answering them all. It was impossible. Hunith brought up the rear, Hogwarts supplies list in her hands and muttering on about this and that. Saying things such as:

"It's like no supplies list I've ever seen…" And, "A telescope? That doesn't sound too odd…oh dear, a toad?"

Soon they were standing before the large, white marble bank. Both Merlin and Hunith stopped what they were doing and looked up at the looming building, caught from their own thoughts and transfixed.

Minerva McGonagall took her chance. "This is Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. It is a very old and respected establishment so I would advise you, Mr. Gwilt, to be on your best behavior and hold your questions. There are beings called Goblins that own and operate this bank. They may be strange-looking to you, but please try not to say or do anything that will offend them. You must be polite." And she watched him closely as she spoke.

Merlin, to his credit, nodded silently.

Minerva continued. "Here we will exchange your muggle-" She cleared her throat, thinking better of her phrasing. "Your pound notes to wizarding currency. I will walk you through the process so you can do it in the future." She waited for the slew of questions.

Merlin remained quiet, watching her and waiting. His mother nodded and smiled.

McGonagall sighed. "Let us press on. How much did you bring to exchange today?"

A pause. Then Merlin's mother started. "Oh, that's me!" Hunith exclaimed and began to dig around in her purse. From it she drew a slightly bent and crumpled envelope. "Just over four hundred pounds, I think." And she muttered. "I hope it's enough."

"Have no fear, Ms. Gwilt." Minerva spoke up and tried to send a smile over to the worried mother. "Hogwarts has a fund for… such situations."

"Oh." And Hunith's ears became a little red. "That's nice."

"Well, shall we?" Minerva gestured to the bank.

Merlin took the envelope from his mother and walked close beside Minerva as they entered the bank. During the conversion process, he was only just tall enough to see the goblins at work while they counted out the equivalent amount of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Though to be fair, Minerva watched the boy stand on his tip-toes the entire time. Barely tall enough. The goblins kept giving him nasty looks but he didn't seem to notice it. She could tell that the boy had about a million and one questions about the goblins working there. Hunith seemed to be keeping her distance, electing to stand behind McGonagall the entire time. They left the bank with Merlin carrying a little bag of jingling coins, about ninety or so Galleons and some change in Sickles and Knuts. His mother carried the empty envelope. Hunith folded and refolded the tattered envelope as they walked down the white marble steps.

Minerva watched the mother a moment more. The woman was staring off into space as they walked. This was probably all a little overwhelming for her. Merlin was just energized by it, but his mother looked exhausted. Best get this over with as soon as possible. Minerva stopped the little party at the bottom of the stairs and turned to Merlin. "Now then, Mr. Gwilt, we shall start purchasing the items on your list."

Merlin looked up from his little bag of gold.

"I suggest we start at the beginning and work our way through the list. Should not take but an hour or so." She continued.

"Okay!" Merlin stuffed the jingling bag into his trouser pocket with some difficulty then looked back to Minerva again. "Can I ask questions now?"

Minerva frowned at him, thinking.

This child will be the death of me here and now. He's already spent most of the time here asking questions, how can he possibly have any more?

It was never-ending. But it was natural for him. He was only just learning about this world and it was most likely very exciting. She had seen it enough times before. That did not mean she enjoyed it. In fact, it had become a little tiresome and routine. "Yes."

He opened his mouth.

"But!" And she was feeling a little spiteful. "You may ask only seven more and then I resign as your interrogatee for the day." She gave him a firm glare. "Understood?" This would shut him up. He would run through seven questions in as many or fewer minutes and then they would have a nice, quiet shopping trip.

He gave her something like a glare back, but due to his stature and ridiculous ears and the fact that he was merely a child, it looked far from threatening. In fact, quite the opposite. Minerva held back a small smile.

And Merlin closed his mouth again and nodded.

"Excellent." She addressed the mother. "Ms. Gwilt," Hunith looked up from the ground, blinking. Minerva smiled at her. "What is first on Merlin's school list?"

"Oh." Hunith unfolded the list again. "Oh, I see, yes. Robes? Black ones." She raised an eyebrow. "That seems a bit dreary, doesn't-"

"Thank you. Follow me." And Minerva set off in the direction of Madam Malkin's. The fitting wouldn't take too long. Merlin Gwilt was tiny. And quiet. For the moment. Thank goodness.

A few blessedly silent minutes later, Minerva had guided her little party to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Being only June, the shop was fairly quiet with only a few shoppers meandering here and there, picking over some lovely midnight blue velvet pointed hats, or admiring a brightly colored silk scarf or two. Said scarves oscillated between an olive green and a deep shimmering ocher, the pattern looking very much like the ripple of light that played on the bottom of streambeds. Lovely effect, terrible colors, Minerva observed. As soon as they passed across the threshold, Minerva placed a hand on the boy's small shoulder and steered him toward the Madam Malkin herself, who was arranging a very lovely window display of some lavender formal robes. By itself, the robe waltzed slowly, exuding some kind of vaporous glitter that shimmered in the air around it. Bit showy. But Hunith and Merlin stared and stared.

"Good day, Headmistress!" The small witch spoke, then turned to face the little procession. "And company." She added, smiling up at Merlin and his mother.

Minerva nodded then prodded young Merlin forward. "This is Merlin Gwilt. He is in need of some robes for the upcoming school year." And before Minerva McGonagall had finished speaking, the white-haired witch had already whipped out her tape measure and began measuring Merlin's dimensions. And the tape measure continued to do so after Malkin had walked away in search of materials.

"I'm sure we have your size, young man." The white-haired witch called over her shoulder.

Merlin's back was to Minerva as the tape measure slithered over him like a snake, so she only heard his giggles. She watched the boy poke at the instrument and it looked as though it tried to hiss at him. But it was only a tape measure, and made no sound. Minerva glanced over at Hunith. The woman was simply staring at everything in the little shop.

A minute or so later Malkin, in her swathe of elegantly styled mauve robes, reappeared with some black cloth over one arm.

"Right then!" She reached out a small hand and the tape measure wriggled from Merlin's body to rest around the witch's neck. "Let's try these, shall we?"

It was only later, when Merlin was standing on that little stool with his arms out and his brow pinched and furrowed, that he opened his mouth and spoke. "Can I ask my first question now?"

Minerva took a small sip from her tea. She and Ms. Gwilt were sitting in little armchairs now, watching the process. "It will have to be your second. I believe that was your first."

The boy let his arms drop. "That's not fair!"

"I'm a little busy now, dear. Arms up! Arms up!" Madam Malkin protested, speaking around the pins in her mouth.

Merlin put his arms up again. "Do over."

"Do you think so?" Minerva crossed her legs and settled back into her seat. She would let him ask it all the same. But she would not let him run roughshod over her.

"Yes." Was his answer.

Hunith remained curiously silent, staring into her own cup of tea. Probably watching the pattern of blue painted fish swim through the white of the porcelain cup.

Minerva waited a moment or two then nodded. "Ask away."

"How long has…" And he tried to gesture as best as he could with his arms straight out. "All this been here?"

All this? Perhaps he meant the stores and shops here in London. "Do you mean Diagon Alley?" Minerva McGonagall asked.

"No,… Well, yes. I mean, you know…magic." Merlin frowned, eyes fixating on the floor now. "Everything."

"That is hardly a precise question."

"I got seven questions and this is one of them." Madam Malkin had the boy turn in place so she could adjust something else and Merlin now spoke over his shoulder, his back to Minerva and his mother.

"I'm curious too." Ms. Gwilt spoke softly, her cup halfway to her lips and watching the small, white-haired witch do her work.

Minerva held back a sigh and took another sip of her tea. "So, let us rephrase." And she watched Malkin turn the boy back around and place a black hat on Merlin's head. It was too big. It slipped over his eyes and rested on his nose. The mauve witch whipped it away and went off to select another. "Would 'how long has magic existed?' be a more accurate question?" Minerva tried.

Merlin thought a moment, now facing Minerva and his mother again, then nodded. "Yes."

"Magic has existed since forever. Next question, Mr. Gwilt." She did not allow herself a smirk, but could not help but quirk her eyebrow at the boy.

Merlin opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking ridiculous with a too-small hat that Madam Malkin had now placed on his head. "That's a terrible answer!" He squawked.

"Merlin!" Hunith set down her teacup and frowned. "Be polite."

It was true however, despite the abbreviated explanation. Magic and those who used it had been around for centuries. Millenia. There was no telling how long. The records stretched back into prerecorded history. "You will learn more of wizarding history during your studies."

"Yeah, but-"

"Next question?"

Merlin's brow pinched tight again. "No." Madam Malkin was now stuffing some gloves and a long cloak into Merlin's arms as he argued. "I mean- Isn't there anything else, something- Can't you tell me?" Three more sets of black robes followed, finding their way into Merlin's arms, along with one black hat. "Still this question!" Came the somewhat shrill voice from behind a pile of black clothing.

"Forty-two galleons and eleven sickles." Madam Malkin pronounced.

A choked cough. Spluttering. They all turned. Hunith's smile was pinched as she cleared her throat. "Sorry, sorry." She shook her head and stood from her armchair. "It's nothing. Just-…just swallowed the wrong way."

Minerva patted the woman on the back.

"Is everything alright, dear?" The small white-haired witch looked at Ms. Gwilt with some concern.

Merlin looked over his pile of clothes at Hunith. "Mum?"

Hunith was looking over the robes and cloak and gloves and hat with a small frown, but it was cleverly disguised as a smile, Minerva noted. Hunith shook her head again. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"Should I, um-? We have a clearance section." Malkin pointed with her white wand towards the back of the shop.

And Hunith held onto her small smile. "No, no, it's fine." She pulled the school list out of her pocket. "Go ahead and pay, lovey. I'll see what we've got to get next." And she turned away.

Merlin stared at his mother for a minute or so then looked back down at Madam Malkin and flashed a grin. "Thanks for all this. It's wonderful! How much did you say again?"

"I should let you have a deal, dear." Madam Malkin almost blushed at the young wizard's smile and patted the boy's hand. "For being such an easy and polite customer, of course. How about I give it to you for…"

Merlin paid Madam Malkin the discounted price and he and McGonagall walked outside to where Ms. Gwilt stood, reading the school list. Hunith spoke as soon as they drew near. "Looks like a bunch of textbooks are next."

"Cool!" Merlin slung the bag that Madam Malkin had piled all his purchases into over his back. "Let's go." He looked back at Minerva. "Where do we go?"

"The bookstore. It is called Flourish and Blotts." Minerva nodded ahead of them. "It is just a few doors down, on the left."

"I see it!" And marching forward, list in hand before her, Hunith led the way.

Minerva was surprised enough at Hunith's initiative that she did not not notice that Merlin was walking at her side. She did, however, realize it when he spoke up, startling her.

"So how long has all this magic stuff been around?"

McGonagall pressed a hand to her chest and sighed. She looked down to the boy walking beside her. "You are tenacious."

Merlin shrugged. "Mum uses different words than that."

"Such as?"

"Gifted?" She could hear the grin in his voice.

Minerva watched Ms. Gwilt enter the bookstore, after daintily walking around a pair of hags. "That is not what 'tenacious' means, Mr. Gwilt."

"I know." Merlin slowed down. "It's more like 'spoiled arrogant brat'. That's what she calls me." His grin turned sheepish and he looked down at his feet.

"Oh, well." Minerva stopped and faced the child, and they stood there together in the street. "That is a bit more accurate, young man." They were just outside Flourish and Blotts now, and McGonagall had lost sight of Ms. Gwilt. "Now, if you'll just step inside-"

Merlin interrupted. "Magic has been around since forever, but why…" Merlin frowned, and thought a moment. Minerva could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "Why hasn't- Why aren't- Well, why don't more people know about it?"

"Is that your second question?"

"Maybe?" He shrugged.

"How about this?" And Minerva began shooing the boy into the bookstore. At the rate they were going, they would be walking up and down Diagon Alley all day! "How about we gather your books, and you think about your second question?"

"Alright." He grumbled.

After a brief rush to find all of Merlin's eight books and managing to find some used copies, Merlin and Minerva McGonagall were up at the front counter, paying again. Ms. Gwilt stood behind them, carrying the stack they had procured. Merlin was counting out ten galleons and some number of sickles and knuts, when he stopped, looked up at McGonagall, and asked. "Why is it all a secret? Why don't normal people know about all of this…magic stuff?"

Question number two, Minerva mentally noted.

The manager behind the counter snorted. McGonagall flashed him a tight frown then looked back down to Merlin, who was finishing up his counting. "It is for everyone's safety, Merlin. For both the wizarding society and the mug-… the regular society." Sometimes, Minerva reflected, using the word 'muggle' seemed a little alienating, or almost disdainful. And she hated that. It was a perfectly legitimate word. But for some reason, perhaps because of its stigma years ago, it seemed like an 'othering' word. Did that make sense at all? She sighed inwardly and noticed the bookstore manager looking at both of them.

"Is your name really 'Merlin'?" The manager of Flourish and Blotts took the boy's money, peering over the counter from behind some thick glasses. "I suppose you'll have to say 'My Beard', or something like that, won't you?"

"Really now!" Minerva hissed. "That is a touch inappropriate, don't you think?"

The manager blanched.

Merlin frowned. "My what?" He glanced up at McGonagall.

Minerva shook her head. "Never you mind, it is just an expression. Come along then!" And she led the little party out of the bookstore and back into the bright sunshine that lay over Diagon Alley, making every surface look almost gilded. It was nearly eleven in the morning by the look of the sun, and Minerva pulled out her pocket-watch to confirm it. Yes, eleven. She slipped it back in her robes.

Merlin jogged beside her. "So why is it safer that magic-people and people-…people who don't do magic, don't see each other? Why is it safer?"

Minerva was now steering them towards Wiseacre's shop. "For many years-"

Ms. Gwilt, walking behind Merlin and Minerva, interrupted. "A wand is next!" She panted.

"Yes, thank you." Minerva McGonagall looked back at Hunith. "We will visit the general equipment store first, then we will buy a wand afterwards."

"Oh, alright then."

Minerva looked back again. "Could I take some of those books, dear?"

"Headmistress? For many years what?" Merlin darted back and grabbed half the books that Hunith was carrying. "I got 'em, mum."

"Oh, thank you." Ms. Gwilt smiled. "They were getting heavy."

"Headmistress?" Merlin was walking at Minerva's side again.

She sighed and smiled. Minerva decided, again, that she would be glad when this was over. She was becoming a little overwhelmed as well. The little petty thought that she may be too old for this came to mind. "Yes, so for many years, those that used magic were persecuted by those who did not use magic, muggles, rather."

Merlin trotted along beside her. "Muggles?"

"People who are not witches or wizards are usually called 'muggles'."

"Oh, right, okay."

Minerva continued. "Around the year 1700, the witches and wizards of that era decided that something needed to be done. They made the Statute of Secrecy. It is a law that wizards and witches follow so that our world is kept hidden, and also, safe. Here we are!" And Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment now stood before the little group. "Come along!" And they ducked inside.

While Minerva McGonagall picked out Merlin's cauldron, phials, and other things, he followed close beside her, determined to touch every single thing in the store. Every thing! It was the tenth time she slapped his hand away, that he asked his next question.

"Sooo, question number three." He mused, reaching out for some rather fragile scales.

Minerva saw his sneaky hand and smacked it again. "Yes?"

"You said I'm s'posed to start at the school, at Hogwarts, at eleven, so why do I have to start at twelve? How did-…?" And he frowned, hands in his pockets now, thankfully. "How does all that work?"

Question number three.

"Mmmm." Minerva stalled. She then selected a good sturdy-looking telescope, but previously owned. She had seen the way Ms. Gwilt had turned pale every time they paid for something today. It was a wonder the poor woman went shopping at all! The sparseness of the cottage she had visited days before now made more sense. She carried the telescope to the front counter and set it there.

"Is it bad?" Came a small voice behind her.

Minerva McGonagall turned around to face the young boy. "Bad?"

"I dunno." Merlin shrugged, his hands still in his pockets and looking anywhere but McGonagall's face. "Stuff like that happens to me, a lot."

Ah. The boy who had always been strange in this life was worried he would be strange in this new one he was about to enter. Minerva allowed herself to smile. "Merlin." He looked up at her again, briefly. "It's not any fault of yours. We have a registry system, of sorts. And every so often it makes a little mistake."

No, it did not. It had never made a mistake. Ever. This was unprecedented. Extraordinary. And very very strange. But she was not about to say that. The simplest explanation was that either Hunith Gwilt was lying or wrong. That she felt the need to lie about her son's birth year. Or that she simply had it wrong. Neither were McGonagall's business, but both were perplexing. And if she was not lying or wrong, then what was going on? She had gone up to the tower herself just after her first visit to the Gwilts and inspected the Book and Quill herself. She ran a barrage of tests and spells to see if it had been tampered with. Nothing. Nothing at all. The answer eluded her and she had sent owls to a number of colleagues, asking for advice. It was very rarely she confessed she did not know what to do. This had shaken her. She had no answer to this question yet. But Merlin Gwilt did not need to know that now.

She continued. "Unfortunately, that mistake set you back a year." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little. "Myself and the other professors will make sure you are caught up. Not to worry."

Merlin nodded and pulled away from her hand on his shoulder, pointing at some new device. "What is that?"

Minerva sighed. They would never make it out of this shop! She hurried forward to take it out of his hands.

A few more hand smacks and purchases later, they exited Wiseacre's. Minerva felt herself wilt a little in the bright sunshine. She really was getting much too old for this routine. She had to have a sit down and a little break.

"Tea, anyone?" She called behind her.

"Sure!" Merlin was lugging his supplies along, with Hunith Gwilt bringing up the rear, carrying very little. "Magic tea?"

Minerva twisted around to look at him. "What nonsense!"

The boy blushed, right to the tips of his overlarge ears. "I was only asking."

Minerva headed across the street to Rosa Lee Teabag, the teashop.

"Do you need help, Merlin?" The boy's mother asked.

"I'm fine."

The bell on the door jingled and they settled at a nearby table. The owner took their order. Then Ms. Gwilt excused herself to the lavatory. Merlin and Minerva settled into two chairs, opposite each other. It was a little cooler in the teashop, Minerva noticed, thankfully. She sighed and arranged her robes while the boy piled his purchases beside his feet.

"So," Merlin began. But he was soon distracted.

Their tea floated over on a silver tray, displayed in some lovely china that, when Minerva took the handle of the teapot, conformed to fit her hand quite well and displayed a bucolic scene of a girl swinging on a swing and a boy pushing her, the grassy hills around them rolling and waving in some imaginary wind. Charming, but a little excessive.

Minerva sipped her tea. "You were saying, Mr. Gwilt."

He was staring open-mouthed at his teacup. "Oh." He started. "Yeah, so, I was thinking…"

A dangerous pastime, Minerva considered.

Merlin continued, still watching the scene on his teacup with some interest. His voice was lowered. "So, if I can do this magic stuff, does that mean other people in my family, well- Are other people in my family- Do they do it too? Magic?" And he kept his eyes on the piece of china in his hands, worrying at his lip.

Question number four, she counted.

Minerva took another sip of her own tea. The girl on her teacup fell off her swing into a clump of bushes. She smirked. "Perhaps, but I can give you no more certain an answer than that." She set her cup down. The boy had not stirred from his tense position. This question was somewhat important to him. For some reason. Minerva did not yet know why. She went on. "You are what we call muggle-born: a wizard or witch born to muggle parents. It may be that one of your relatives was a wizard or witch, or one of your ancestors, it is difficult to determine."

"What about my father?" He mumbled. "Could he be like me too?"

She hadn't thought of that. Nor had she asked. "Do you not know-"

"Never met him. Took off before mum had me." Merlin put down his teacup, undrunk, and looked up at Minerva McGonagall. But only for a moment, then his eyes were glued back to the table.

"I see." Minerva pursed her lips. "It is possible that your father was a wizard, or perhaps had wizards or witches in his lineage."

"It would explain a lot." Merlin sighed.

"Explain what?" Hunith sat down in a chair beside her son and squeezed his shoulder. "Oh good, tea."

Minerva refilled her cup. "We were talking about-"

Merlin shoved an empty teacup in his mother's face. "The teacups, see? The pictures move."

"Oh, how lovely!" Hunith took the cup from her son and smiled. She watched the people playing about on the hillside in the pictures. "We should have some of these in our house, mmm?"

"I'd want ones with dragons on then, you know…" Merlin suggested. And he and his mother spoke at length about what kinds of magical teacups they should own. Minerva only half listened, sipping her tea, and pondering Merlin's strange reaction. And his lying to his mother. Odd. Very odd. Seemed that his father was a touchy subject.

Once they had finished their tea, Hunith elected to stay in the teashop with all the purchases so they did not have to lug them around Diagon Alley when they picked out Merlin's wand. Minerva ordered and paid for Hunith's next pot of tea and left with Merlin.

They stepped out into the bright sunshine again. Minerva blinked and began to follow Merlin, who was already running out into the street. Running the wrong way.

"Merlin!"

"Yeah?" He looked back.

"Other way." And she began leading the way to Ollivander's. Merlin soon followed her and was at her side in an instant.

They soon walked by Florean Fortescue's old shop. Minerva felt her heart flutter when she saw it. No one had cleaned up that mess, not even after the five or so years that had passed. The windows had been smashed, and though the shattered glass had been removed from the cobblestones, the windows remained gaping. The walls were stained with a few scorch marks in places, here and there, speaking of the fire that had burned briefly in that building. It was as though the community had decided to leave it here, untouched, as some sort of ugly, morbid reminder. Minerva repressed a shudder.

"What happened there?" Merlin spoke from beside her, close by her elbow as they walked.

Question number five, she supposed.

"Oh." And Minerva searched for the words. "It was…well, a break-in. It happened about five years ago and the owner-… he disappeared. So it has not been repaired yet."

"Oh."

"Let's move along." And she prodded him further down the street away from Florean Fortescue's.

"Does stuff like that happen a lot?"

Ollivander's shop was within sight now. "Such as?" Minerva slowed down.

She saw that Merlin was still staring at the burnt building. "People disappearing, places burning down?"

"No." Then Minerva thought a moment. And it slowly dawned on her that Merlin knew nothing of what had happened those five or so years ago. Nothing of the terror and death toll. It was proof that times really had changed for the better that a muggleborn like Merlin could go to Hogwarts, walk freely in Diagon Alley, and not to constantly be afraid of persecution. He had to know, at least a little, before diving into a world that was still healing from those events. He could not go into that world blind.

Minerva took Merlin's arm and pulled him gently into the shade of a nearby shop front. "A few years ago, there was something of a civil war, Merlin, between two factions of wizards and witches." She paused. He was listening intently, for once. "There was a lot of fighting and many people were afraid for a long time. No one was safe. And many things were destroyed-"

"And that store was one of them?" Merlin was frowning up at her.

"Yes." She nodded, ignoring his interruption, just this once. "It is over now. The ones who were causing the war were killed or captured, and there is peace again here. But…" It was all so new to him. Something horrible had become so routine for her. But here he was, taking it all in, all that pain. She hesitated, but soon continued. "But, many people still remember those dark times. You will learn more about it later and I have no doubt you will find most of it in one of your books you bought. Understood?"

Merlin nodded.

"Right then." Minerva led him over to Ollivander's shop.

Merlin stared up at the gold sign as they passed through the doorway. She heard him whisper: "B.C.?" He must have noticed the 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' aspect of the sign. It was a staggeringly long time that the Ollivander family had been operating.

A bell rang out somewhere in the shop when Merlin pushed the door open for Minerva and held it as she entered. It rang again when the young man let it close. It was dusty, tiny, and dim. Minerva sniffed. While she did not entirely enjoy the old smell of wood, dust, aging paper, it was a familiar scent to her. The boxes upon boxes of wands were stacked high and rose near to the ceiling. Or maybe they did brush the ceiling. It was simply too blessedly dark in the shop to tell.

"Headmistress?" Merlin was staring up at all the boxes.

"Yes?" Minerva put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You saw me close the door at home? You knew that it was magic, but…" Merlin spoke slowly and his voice was soft, as though he were too afraid to speak any louder in this quiet, dim place. He asked question number six. "So I can do magic. You said I was advanced, then why do I need a wand?"

For my own peace of mind.

But Minerva would not say that. Ever.

Truth be told, young Merlin's propensity to perform intentional and controlled magic with no words and no wand had frightened her. Frightened her enough that she had tried to write it off as a fluke, or forget it altogether.

That kind of talent was not seen often, and when it was, it put her in mind of a more sinister wizard that had displayed the same advanced magical tendencies during his stay in a certain orphanage.

She had only learned this knowledge after the war; it had been imperative to her at the time to learn everything about the wizard that had caused so much destruction to her community. That little tidbit of information had been stored away in the back of her mind until she had seen Merlin's…display. And it was only after her visit with the Gwilts, that very night, that the similarity had presented itself to her mind. And then, she had tried to deny it, or ignore it, or explain it away. Had briefly considered writing to some of her former students, asking for advice. Worried for hopefully no reason. Hoped that her worries were for nothing.

"If we all used that logic, young wizard, I would not have a profession."

Minerva pressed a hand to her chest and sighed. Garrick Ollivander, with his pale eyes and long hair tied back, had just stepped from the shadows and spooked them both. She was getting too old for this.

Merlin stared, wide-eyed, up at the wand-maker.

"A new student?" The old man asked, holding out his hand to Merlin.

"Very." Minerva said curtly.

Merlin took Ollivander's hand and shook it. The boy was smiling though, not intimidated in the least. "Merlin Gwilt."

"An old name indeed…" And the wand-maker leaned close to Merlin's face. "And a pair of very old eyes."

"They're the same age as the rest of me." Merlin quipped.

"Quite." And the wand-maker kept hold of Merlin's hand a little while longer. "Quite, quite."

Minerva was about to say something about this strange display, even though Merlin did not look at all uncomfortable and was smiling up into Garrick's pale face, when the wand-maker suddenly released the young wizard's hand and straightened up.

"Wands are very useful tools, Merlin Gwilt, and I do not just say that because I have made them for many years." He walked around his front counter and seemed to be browsing his stock, looking over each and every box. "They are similar to a physical extension of your will over magic. They focus it, direct it, and in many cases, complete you as a wizard…" And he glanced back at Minerva McGonagall. "Or witch."

Minerva nodded.

"Which is the hand you do everything with, Merlin Gwilt?" The wand-maker asked, his back to them.

"Left." Merlin answered.

"I see." Garrick Ollivander climbed slowly up a ladder, retrieved a single box, and climbed back down. "Try this one, Merlin Gwilt." Out of box came a fairly nondescript-looking wand. He handed it over the counter to the boy. Merlin took it, frowned, then held it out again for the wand-maker to take back. He hadn't even had it in his hand for longer than a few seconds.

"It's not right." Was all the boy said.

Ollivander leaned his elbows on his counter and rested his chin on his fingertips, looking down at the boy with some kind of half smile. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Minerva sighed. "Mr. Gwilt. Just give it a wave and test it, if you please! Or we will be here all day."

"This won't work, it feels wrong."

"Humor me, Mr. Gwilt." Minerva growled.

Merlin gave the wand a little wave. Nothing happened. He was right. It was wrong.

Ollivander took the wand out of Merlin's hand and soon returned to searching his haphazard stock for another wand. "Very instinctual, young Merlin Gwilt." He commented during his search.

Minerva sniffed. "Yes, instinct, but no common sense."

"Hey!" Merlin stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I have sense."

"Then have the sense to do as your told. All the instinct in the world will get you nowhere if you do not know how to use it. Just like magic." Minerva snapped and crossed her arms.

That shut him up.

Garrick Ollivander soon returned with another wand. "This one may do. It may be the right combination."

Merlin took the wand. "Combination?"

And the wand-maker snatched the wand away again. "Each wand is different, Merlin Gwilt. A different wood, a different core." And he hurried away to pick another.

"Oh, which was that?"

"Yew and Unicorn hair, eleven inches."

Merlin choked. "Unicorns?"

"Yes." Came the distant answer from the back of the shop.

Soon Ollivander produced another wand for Merlin to try. This time Merlin gave it back. "Which is this?"

"Apple and phoenix feather, nine inches."

"Wow."

And so it continued. Minerva eventually found herself sitting on one of those ancient spindly stools that Ollivander kept around the shop. She wearily watched the spectacle of both wizards collaborating on which wand would work best for young Merlin. Ollivander would take some away while Merlin would shove some back at him. It went on and on. When finally, finally, Merlin grinned when he took a wand.

"This is it." He said, excitedly, looking back at McGonagall. "This is right."

"Well, make sure." She waved her hand at him. "Before you purchase it."

"I had a suspicion…" Ollivander said, but he did not have the chance to finish.

Merlin backed into a pile of empty wand boxes sitting on the counter, knocked into them, and the tottering pile wobbled and began to tip. Minerva reached out. But before she could help, Merlin had spun around. He waved the wand. Pointed it at the falling boxes. And nothing. Nothing at all happened. The boxes were almost frozen in midair, falling slowly at though through some invisible syrup. Merlin had stopped them. Somehow…

Merlin grinned. He examined his wand. "Cool!"

"Bravo!" Garrick Ollivander, still atop his rickety ladder, applauded as best as he could.

"Indeed." Minerva took out her own wand, flicked it, and sent all the boxes back to their correct places, neatly and swiftly.

Merlin watched all the boxes fly away, still gripping his new wand. "This is great. I like this one. What is it?"

"My hunch was correct." The wand-maker slowly descended from the ladder and stood behind the counter again.

"Hunch?" Merlin was waving the wand some more.

Minerva struck out, smacked his hand, and took the wand. "It is not a toy, Mr. Gwilt!"

"English oak, dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches. A wand just as old as your name, very fitting." Garrick continued, staring down at the young wizard. "You know what the Druids of old, the first wand-makers of this isle, believed about the oak tree?"

Merlin shook his head.

"The Druids revered it. In fact, all the Celts held that the mighty oak tree was one of the most important trees of folklore and the forest. The name 'Druid' may have come from some root word meaning 'oak'." He held out his hand towards Merlin's wand. Minerva handed it over to Ollivander. The wand-maker held the wand aloft. "The English Oak is known as King of the Forest from the winter solstice to the summer solstice. And, those that wield English Oak are generally found to have a powerful intuition and an affinity for the natural world. Animal and plant. They are connected to it in an intimate way."

Minerva resisted rolling her eyes. As if this boy needed an even more swelled head than he already had.

Ollivander continued as he handed the wand back to Merlin. "It is said that Merlin himself, your namesake I assume, possessed a wand of English Oak."

Merlin took the wand and placed it back in its box. "Thank you." And the boy smiled, before looking back at Minerva McGonagall one more time. She could not help but smile back at him. He just looked so happy, it was infectious. "How much?" Merlin asked.


	4. Cigarettes and Coffee

Chapter 4: Cigarettes and Coffee

* * *

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

City of Westminster, London, UK

Half past noon

* * *

"Are you hungry?" Gaius closed the front door behind his nephew and began leading him up the stairs to his apartments on the first floor.

"Ahm, no, not really."

"Cuppa?"

"Sure, thanks Gaius." His nephew answered. The stairs creaked over their voices as they climbed; they were old and wooden, probably original to the building.

They finished climbing the flight of stairs, turned the corner, and Gaius watched his nephew's jaw drop with some small satisfaction. But the flat was, as Gaius would regularly admit to himself and others, much too grand and large for his taste. He had tried to keep it as sparse and simple as possible. The floors were simple hardwood, the walls were varying shades of pastel, and the furniture was functional and plain. And despite all the pomp and circumstance that would frequently make its way up from downstairs and over from across the hall, invading his humble abode, it was still a lovely, calm space to live in. And Gaius loved it well.

Gaius stepped around the boy and headed into the kitchen. "Like it?" He checked the kettle for water then flicked it on. "I'll give you the tour. Kitchen's here; one fridge is for food, the other for medication." He walked out of the kitchen and past his nephew just as the boy poked his head around the corner, giving the kitchen a glance.

"Nice." His nephew commented.

"It is." Gaius continued to the sitting room and dining area, which together made a large open area, one that composed most of the flat. "And this-…" His nephew had not followed him. "Merlin?" The boy was still standing in the kitchen threshold, staring into the room, his back to Gaius.

Eventually, his nephew turned about and walked back to Gaius. "One fridge's got a padlock on it."

"Yes." It was then, when the boy came to stand beside him again, that Gaius noticed that the young child he had met only a few times before was now a young man and taller than him. Wasn't it only yesterday he had gone to this little tyke's seventh birthday party? "That one is for the minister's medicine." He explained.

His nephew had something halfway between a scowl and a smile on his face. Something twisted. "The padlock for me?" He asked, laughing in some kind of uncomfortable, breathy way.

"No." Gaius answered slowly and cautiously.

Of course the bloody padlock was there because of Merlin! Gaius couldn't take any chances. But he wasn't about to tell his nephew that, since Hunith had said the boy was already quite nervous. Gaius tried to appear nonchalant and shrugged. "Always been there. A great deal of people come in and out of this building every day. Can't be too careful."

"Yeah, got it, okay." Merlin said quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets, back hunched. "What's next?" The boy stared at him, hard. Gaius stared back. In the kitchen, the kettle beeped cheerily.

"I'll get that." Gaius murmured and stepped away.

After pouring the hot water and the tea began to steep, Gaius got on with pointing out the living area, the lavatory, a few more useless but nice-looking rooms, and his own bedroom. Then he led his nephew down the hall to the guest bedroom, opened the door, and let Merlin step inside first. "This is your room."

The boy walked in and stopped in the center of the room, looking about with his back to Gaius, and let his bag slid off his shoulder and set it on the floor. Gaius kept quiet for a minute or so, letting his nephew take it all in before he spoke again.

"Will it do?" He asked the boy.

"Will it do?" Merlin asked in return and looked back. He shrugged, some kind of sheepish smile on his face. "Yeah, guess so."

The young man took another look around the room. The floor was hardwood and the walls were freshly painted white, plain and simple. There was a single bed against the opposite wall, a dresser against the other, and a small desk and chair against the other wall. There were two windows, since the room was on the corner of the building.

Merlin continued. "Bit big, actually."

"You'll get used to it." Gaius leaned on the doorframe.

"Yeah." His nephew laughed a little. "Yeah, um, thanks- For all this." Merlin walked over to the bed and sat on it, facing Gaius. He bounced a little, testing it.

"It's the least I can do. You know I'd do anything for you and Hunith." Gaius elected to stay where he was, getting a good look at the boy who sat on the bed.

He was thin. Thin neck, thin wrists, thin and painfully bony shoulders, he had felt them when they hugged earlier outside. He was thin in such a way that did not look entirely healthy. Gaius felt that he had a good grip on what looked healthy, what with the small thing of being a doctor and all. And Merlin didn't look healthy. His already obvious cheekbones seemed to stand out all the more, contrasting with the slight hollows in his cheeks. Dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of little sleep and a lot of stress.

Gaius nodded at his nephew. "Did they feed you in that place?"

Merlin looked up at Gaius, then back down the floor. Same twisted smile as before. "Not really."

They both fell silent. He was forgetting something. Gaius frowned. He'd forgotten something, hadn't he? What was… Ah, the tea.

He cleared his throat and began making his way back to the kitchen. "Tea's probably ready then."

"Right." He heard Merlin following.

Gaius pulled the dripping teabags out of his and Merlin's cups then tossed them in the bin. "Honey? Cream?"

"Um, sure." Merlin stood beside him.

"How much?"

"Dunno." The boy sighed.

"Alright, well I"ll just set it out and you can do it your-" Gaius caught one of the cups with his elbow. He knew what he had done as soon as he had done it. He knew. Caught it with his elbow and knocked it clean off the counter. It sailed away. A curse on his lips. It was going to make such a mess. Tea and ceramic everywhere…

Merlin reached out.

And then it froze. Just hung there in midair. Tea half spilling out, drops hovering, sparkling. It would have been quite beautiful if Gaius hadn't been so surprised.

Gaius closed his mouth and stood there. He wasn't sure what to say. He looked over at Merlin.

The boy shrugged and hung his head a little. "Sorry." He mumbled and tried his best to coax the floating, steaming tea back into the cup with his hands. "It's a knee-jerk thing, you know? Ouch!" The hot tea must have burned his fingers because Merlin sucked on one before continuing. Once he was done tidying, the few drops he hadn't been able to corral suddenly hit the floor with soft plops, as though they had been released. And Merlin took a sip of the tea. "It's good." He wiped his wet fingers on his trousers.

Gaius sighed. "I think you should keep that to a minimum while you're here."

"I will." The boy nodded.

Gaius leaned in. "Because if anyone catches a whiff of that stuff-"

"I know!" Merlin took another sip. "What? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"More like the opposite." Gaius sniffed and stirred some honey into his tea. "Too smart for your own good."

They wandered back to Merlin's new room and both stood in the doorway, looking in, sipping at the tea and silent. Eventually, Merlin moved across the threshold and sat on the bed again.

Gaius watched his nephew a moment before his thoughts lit upon another subject to discuss. He pursed his lips then finally decided to open his mouth. "How's you mother?"

Merlin had been staring at the floor and at this question he looked up. "You mean, how's she coping with her son being such a cock-up?"

"No." Lord, he had to tip-toe around this boy. Gaius tried again and spoke slowly. "That's not what I meant at all."

"It is though, innit?"

"No."

"Yeah."

A pause. Gaius sighed as quietly as he could and resisting rolling his eyes. "Well?"

Merlin set his cup down on the floor. "What?"

"How is she?"

The boy leaned over, elbows on his knees, and ran a hand through his hair. "Not great, you know? She's worried. Don't want her to, but fat lotta good that does."

"She loves you."

The boy chuckled dully. "Fat lotta good that does her."

Gaius sighed. How was he supposed to deal with this moody boy? Should he be delicate with his nephew, or did the child need a strong hand? Which method would help and which would make things worse? He didn't know. He had never had to look after a child before, save for that one time he was staying for a weekend and Hunith went out to the shops for an hour while he babysat his then seven-year-old nephew. Now, he elected to watch Merlin, and wait and see.

Several minutes passed again between them, silent slow minutes, filled with soft breaths and hesitation. The boy worked his jaw. Gaius watched. Then his nephew spoke again, staring down at the floor. "Doesn't mean much, coming from me, I mean, but thanks." He seemed to hesitate so Gaius kept quiet, waiting. "I'm grateful, you know, for this chance. I do actually want to learn, about the stuff-…the stuff you do." Merlin scratched his nose, head bowed.

Gaius walked over and sat down on the bed beside his nephew. Merlin looked up and watched his movements closely, biting his lip and eyes bright. Gaius kept a small distance, just carefully sat beside his nephew.

"You will learn a lot here and I'm happy to teach you." Gaius gently set a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Merlin nodded and smiled. "I want to learn, not just 'cause they're making me."

Gaius kept going. "Being an HCA will open doors for you in the future, a healthcare assistant's pay isn't excessive, but the skills you learn will be useful later, and the experience. You know?"

"Yeah." Merlin rubbed his eyes and sniffed a little. "I know."

"Just six months of this and then you can choose where to go from there."

Merlin laughed softly and shook his head. "I guess." He sighed then stood up. "Thanks…a lot, you know." He scratched his head and looked around the room again. It looked rather empty with only a bed, desk, dresser, and one small duffle bag.

Gaius picked up Merlin's forgotten cup from the floor and stood too. "I know." He headed back to the kitchen. Merlin followed him. "So, when are you bringing the rest of your things?"

"My what?"

Gaius set the mugs in the sink and ran a little water in each. Good as new. "Your things. I see you've brought the essentials, but what day did you plan on bringing the rest?"

The kitchen was a fairly open area and Merlin had already walked away but he was still within sight. He was looking at a painting of a dull landscape in the living room area, but looked back at Gaius now. "That's all I have."

"Well, yes, but-"

"That's it." Merlin shrugged. "It's all I've got. Most of my other stuff…" His nephew swallowed hard. "Threw it all away."

"Oh." Gaius dried his hands and just stood there like an idiot, his mind searching for the next thing to say. Merlin was staring back at him.

"It's okay." The boy shrugged. "I don't mind it. Living simple, an' all that." He grinned.

Gaius felt something in his chest loosen and he sighed. "I envy you. Once you get to my age, it all just builds up, until you live in a pile of your things."

"Well," Merlin shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. "I've got a ways to go, huh? What are you, like, a hundred?"

What a little prat! Gaius frowned but he felt Merlin's grin encouraging some laughter to build in his belly, but refused to let it show. He watched Merlin head towards the door to the stairs they had climbed earlier. "Where are you going?" He asked.

Merlin opened the door and looked back, digging in his back trouser pocket. "Havin' a fag. I'll be back."

Was that such a good idea? And was he allowed to smoke? What had Hunith said about it? Gaius couldn't remember. And where had the idiot gotten those cigarettes? Gaius thought hard. Should he say something? What would a good guardian-

"Bye!"

Merlin was disappearing down the corridor.

Gaius opened and closed his mouth.

"Ten minutes!" Was all Gaius could manage.

* * *

Merlin ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath, drew the cool air in his lungs. He walked a little ways down the street, looking for a calmer spot. Just needed a moment. Just a moment or two. He wandered to a quieter spot of the street, lit one of the crumpled and sad-looking fags he had smuggled past his mother, and drew the smoke in as deeply as he had taken in that first breath of fresh air. Better. Much better.

Merlin leaned back on the building, the bricks digging through his knit jumper and into his back.

He breathed out.

Anyway, Gaius seemed nice. Pretty much the same bloke he'd met about ten or so years ago. Grey hair, grumpy, prim, and nothing like his mother. They were total opposites. No wonder they didn't visit each other much.

Merlin flicked some ash onto the ground.

It made things easier that Gaius was the only other person that knew about his…talents…or whatever the hell they wanted to call it these days.

Couldn't call it magic anymore, that was over.

Merlin felt his heart stutter. Stop thinking about it. Stop it.

He puffed hard on the cigarette and looked around the empty street. He could hear the traffic on the next street over, not far away, rumbling and loud. But it was a clean street, well-kept and manicured. Made sense, that they'd want to keep it nice-looking.

I really don't fit in here, Merlin frowned.

A nearby door flew open, right beside him. Merlin stepped away. It slammed closed. Why hadn't he noticed that door? He looked down at the ground and tried to make himself smaller. He heard some kind of strangled sigh. Merlin looked up again.

He saw the back of a smartly-dressed man, blonde and tall, standing there and running a hand through his hair. He was wearing a nice charcoal grey suit and shiny black shoes. He hadn't seen Merlin yet.

Should he say something? Merlin took another drag and breathed out as quietly as he could.

The man was muttering to himself. Couldn't make any of it out. Sounded angry. He was fumbling with his tie, yanking at it.

Merlin watched. The man hadn't turned around yet. The longer this goes on, Merlin reminded himself, the more awkward this will be once he finally sees you.

But what the hell should he say? Or maybe just cough.

Sure enough a tickle started in the back of his throat.

Ah, hell.

Merlin coughed, muffling it in the sleeve of his jumper.

The man whirled around. "Shit."

"Hullo." Merlin mumbled. He felt some heat creeping into his ears. They were probably bright red. They did that.

The man's eyes were shining. Was he…crying?

"The hell are you doing there?" He spat.

Merlin got a quick look at the guy. Young, large eyes, straight nose and straight expensive teeth. Figures. Since he was coming out of one of these fancy buildings. Fancy buildings for fancy people. In a moment, the nicely-dressed man had straightened himself out and looked completely and perfectly postured. And was now somehow staring down at Merlin, even though they were pretty much the same height.

Merlin resisted the urge to run away. He hadn't done anything wrong. Right? And, shamefully, he had to think about it for a second or two. No, he hadn't done anything wrong, or against the law. So he stood his ground. Took another puff and exhaled to the side.

"Smoking." Merlin answered and gave the nice man who was having a breakdown a smile, then pulled the crumpled pack out of his trouser pocket. "Want one?" He held it out.

The posh man's look lasted a lifetime, eyes sliding from Merlin's face, down to his sad-looking red jumper and torn trousers, and finally to the pack of fags. His mouth was tight.

He looked like he needed a smoke. And to take out whatever stick had lodged itself up his arse. That wasn't likely though, Merlin reasoned, but he could help with the smoking bit.

The man reached out, took the pack from Merlin's hand, and daintily took a fag out and lit it. He handed the pack back.

"Thanks." He grunted and turned away from Merlin, leaning on the building too, just a couple paces away.

"Pleasure." Merlin had just about finished up his own cigarette. "Rough day?"

The blonde man sighed a cloud of smoke then nodded. "You know what?" He laughed softly. "Yeah, a bit."

Merlin stubbed out the fag on the brick of the building. That sucked, but what had he expected? A guy comes out, practically foaming at the mouth with rage, and you think he might be having a good day? Merlin sighed and rubbed his hands on his trousers. It was just cold enough to make them go a little numb.

What could he say? Try to say something nice. What did his mum say when he was angry or down? Merlin thought back. He cleared his throat again, coughed, and began to back off towards the door to Number 12.

"Well, you know what they say…"

The blonde man looked to him, sighing smoke and raising an eyebrow. "No. What do they say?"

Merlin shrugged. It's what his mum used to say, back when he'd come home from school, angry and hurt. Yeah, there had been a lot of days like that. Too many. "Don't take it all lying down?" He offered.

"What?"

"You know." Merlin was afraid he had said something wrong. He tried again. "Don't take it all lying down. Don't uh-, don't let it get to you, know you?"

"Oh, yeah, right..." The man nodded. "Who says that though?"

"Ahm, my mum."

"Oh, cool." Blondie flicked his fag onto the pavement and stepped on it. "Thanks." And without another word, he spun around and yanked the door open, the door he'd originally come from, and disappeared through it.

Merlin stood there a moment before heading back to Number 12 and slipping inside. He climbed the creaking stairs and soon found himself back inside Gaius' flat.

Gaius, his uncle, was sitting in a neat-looking armchair, one leg crossed over the other, and reading from a book.

He looked up as Merlin entered. "Have your smoke?"

Merlin smiled at the old man and nodded. "Yeah." It was less the smoke and more the fresh air he'd wanted, ironically. "Thanks."

"Does your mother know?" Gaius stood and set aside the book.

He was practically eighteen already. What did it matter? "I'm of age." He argued.

"In June." Gaius crossed his arms.

Well, technically, yes. Merlin sighed. "This year."

"That doesn't count."

"It does."

Gaius just looked at him, eyes squinted and brows crooked. It was that look. They both stood there for a time, staring at each other, neither looking away. The old bastard was right though. And he was supposed to be trying to be better. Merlin dug into his trouser pocket and yanked out the pack of cigarettes.

"Here." He handed it to Gaius. "Sorry."

The old man stared at the pack a moment and froze, looking surprised. "Oh." He glanced up at Merlin again then took the pack and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Yes, well, uh-" He harrumphed. "Don't, uh, don't do it again, right?"

"Right." Merlin nodded. Clean start, Merlin. Clean, clean, clean.

"I was hoping to give you a tour, of the rest of the place. Show you a bit of Number 10. I'm sure you're curious."

I was mildly interested, yes. But not curious.

Merlin smiled and pushed some hair back out of his eyes. It was getting rather long. "Yeah, sure." Just do whatever the old man wants.

"Well, then, shall we?" Gaius walked over and opened another door for Merlin. It led down a corridor, carpeted and well lit. The style was different. It looked rather lush compared to Gaius' flat.

Merlin followed the old man until they emerged into a bustling hive filled with suited men and women, running around, the smell of aftershaves and perfumes and paper and ink in the air. Merlin struggled to know which way to turn as he was led around the ridiculous slew of conference rooms and staircases and narrow corridors that made up the sprawling building that was known as Number 10.

In addition to the maze-like tour, they stopped roughly every five seconds in order to say good afternoon to another passerby and introduce Merlin. He soon lost count of the people he met and his mind was a mess of names and faces. His face was beginning to hurt from the friendly smile he kept having to pull when they ran into another acquaintance of Gaius'.

There was a brief lull when they stopped in front of a closed door. "Well, what do you think so far?"

"Busy." Merlin rubbed his cheeks, massaging he muscles there. Ouch.

"Indeed." Gaius knocked on the door.

"Now what?"

The door opened. "Now, I'll introduce you to Uther." A young man, perhaps late-twenties, opened the door and nodded at Gaius, who now spoke to the young man. "Good afternoon, Owen. Does he have a free moment? I just wanted to speak with him."

Merlin watched the man named Owen frown and open the large, black, leather binder that he had been holding. He flipped through some pages, then flipped back, and he looked up at Gaius and Merlin again. "Is it his appointment?"

"Oh no, that's later I wanted to introduce him to my nephew. Uther knew that he was arriving today." Gaius put a hand to Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin felt himself beginning to blush again. Good lord, meeting the Prime Minister seemed just as casual as asking one of your mates if they were too busy to go out to the pub, or something like that.

The young man frowned and nodded. "Ah, um-" He looked back, back into the room that he was currently sticking his head out of.

Merlin heard a faint voice, echoing from some faraway room. "Let him in, Owen, thank you!"

Owen then, dutifully, stood aside and let them pass. Merlin followed Gaius into the next set of rooms. It was just as elegant and richly furnished as the rooms that Merlin had already seen. It was not gaudy, Merlin noted, definitely not gaudy. But the reigning colors that stood out to him were those of red and gold. And that spoke volumes. This next room looked as though it was some sort of office. There were black bookshelves, filled with the sorts of books that implied they contained some very dull subjects. The floor was dark hardwood, shiny, almost shiny enough that Merlin could just about see his reflection. There were, in addition to the bookshelves that lined the walls, some red couches to the side that looked as though they had never been sat on. And finally, a desk. A large black desk. Wide and heavy-looking, with some fiddly-looking carvings around the bottom. And behind that desk sat Uther Pendragon.

Or, at least, Prime Minister Uther Pendragon.

He tried to stand up a little straighter, wondering why this was necessary. Why did the Prime Minister need to know he existed, just so he could probably forget him the very next minute. He knew that Gaius and the Prime Minister were old friends, but still. Was this really necessary?

"So this is Merlin." The Prime Minister put down his pen.

Merlin watched as the man stood up and walked from around his desk and held out his hand. He was an older man, not quite as old as Gaius, but old enough to look experienced and competent. His short, thinning hair was grey and receding ever so slightly. His shoulders were broad and his posture firm, so that he looked less a than politician and more like some former athlete. The smile looked more like something a shark would bear than any sort of human. But then, Merlin reasoned, most people look intimidating when you're about to shit yourself in fear.

Merlin took the hand and tried to keep up with the firm grip.

"I have heard a lot about you. How was your journey?" The Prime Minister almost loomed over him, despite he and Merlin being about the same height.

"Ahm, fine, it was fine, thanks." Merlin's hand was released and he relaxed a little.

"Well, I know that Dr. Gwilt is happy to finally have some company. He keeps going on and on about how large and empty his quarters are. And you're here to do some sort of apprenticeship, yes?" Uther- uh, the Prime Minister moved on to shake Gaius' hand too, patting the old doctor on the back.

Merlin stepped away a little. "Yeah, uh, Gaius- Dr. Gwilt's going to mentor me. I'm going to get certified as an HCA."

"A what?"

Gaius answered for Merlin. "A healthcare assistant, a step or so below a nurse."

"Sounds like it will be good experience. You've just finished school then, yes?"

In a way, yes. Merlin felt himself wilt a little. "Yeah. All done." It finished me, actually.

"Splendid." The Prime Minister seemed to be herding Gaius and Merlin towards the door again. "I suppose I'll be getting more acquainted with you over the coming weeks, Merlin Gwilt. Gwilt… That's a Welsh name, right Gaius?" The PM looked to the old doctor. "I hadn't really thought about it before, old man. What's the history behind it?"

Gaius frowned. "Well-"

"Ah, Merlin." Prime Minister Pendragon interrupted. And the PM smiled again, the kind of smile that forced Merlin to suppress another shudder. "Would you nip downstairs, fetch us some coffee, some for yourself too, please?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." Merlin grasped the door handle. "Where-"

"Just down the stairs to your right." The PM waved his hand. "Then take the corridor to your right. There's a little kitchen there for such things."

"Right, got it." And Merlin slipped out, closing the door behind him.

That was strange.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

Gaius frowned and watched as his old friend settled himself on the nearest couch, picking up the daily paper, and opening it.

"What do you mean?" Gaius feigned ignorance. All these weeks of planning and Uther decided to bring this up again, now.

"Gaius." The PM's eyes slid from his paper and over to Gaius. "Having him, here? Is it safe? I remember well our little conversation about his indiscretions." He began reading again. "He does not seem particularly stable."

"It will take some time to…adjust, and so forth." Gaius felt himself blustering a little. What was the PM playing at? "He's only been out a week, give him time. He's learnt his lesson."

"Has he?" Gaius saw the PM raise an eyebrow. A moment passed as they waited for the coffee. "Speaking of difficult children, Arthur has started smoking again. I could smell it on him a few minutes ago."

So had Merlin, apparently. "Oh really?" Gaius had moved over to the bookshelves to read some of the titles there as he waited, since the paper was occupied.

"Would you speak to him about it? It really is a nasty habit."

Rolling his eyes, Gaius turned around. "He is an adult. He can decide these things for himself."

"I don't think-" The PM stopped, looking to the door.

Gaius followed his stare. "Wha-"

"Hush." The Prime Minister stood up. Silence. Then a muffled thump and a cry. He nodded and walked to the door, opened it, and started down the stairs. Gaius followed.

* * *

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

City of Westminster, London, UK

About quarter until two in the afternoon

* * *

I'm a bloody adult and I can bloody decide these things for my bloody self!

Arthur pretended to read something important on his phone while he leaned on the wall outside the small, second kitchen. He needed to calm down. The smoke earlier had helped, but the Prime Minister calling him out on it hadn't helped and had sent him straight back to square one. What with this being his first day as the Chief of Staff, the infuriatingly annoying lady this morning, the horrid rides back and forth on the tube all afternoon, and the distinct lack of coffee, this had been a rough day.

The one moment of peace had been that smoke outside with that young vagrant. Or, at least, that's what Arthur had assumed the young man was. He had been pale and shaggy-haired, dressed in too large clothes and looking rather malnourished.

Don't take it all lying down.

Arthur breathed in and out. Just like his therapist had told him. In and out. Now he felt dizzy AND furious.

And then his father had to go interrupt their meeting just to see someone's bratty nephew. They had been in the middle of something important; their position on the case against Thomas James Collins and the Whitehall Toilet Attack, as it was affectionately referred to by the press. Arthur had just been about to ask his father about Mary Collins and why she seemed so intent on personally meeting with his father.

But of course the Prime Minister put everything Arthur considered to be important on hold to meet with some snotty kid and flaunt that lovely title that rested before the name "Uther Pendragon".

Arthur sighed and looked around the corner and into the small kitchen where the aide was working on the next pot of coffee. And he was royally screwing it up. Arthur watched as the young man, with black curls and a long nose, spilled coffee grounds and water everywhere.

Arthur felt something rise in his chest. "Have you ever made coffee before?" He snapped.

The young man looked up. "Oh, sorry. I have, I swear, I just-"

"What's your name?" Arthur stuffed his phone into his inside suit pocket.

The aide set down the empty coffee pot. "What?"

Arthur laughed. This was ridiculous. He might as well make his own coffee. "Is your name 'What'?"

"Oh…" The curly aide looked down at the ID card that hung from a blue lanyard around his neck. "No, I'm sorry."

"'Sorry'?" Arthur sighed. This was too easy. "Your name is 'Sorry'?"

The young man frowned. "Um, no, it's Morris."

"Yes, well, Morris. I think you can leave now." Arthur had no intention of keeping this dullard on staff if he couldn't even make a pot of decent coffee.

"Leave?" Morris' mouth opened and closed.

"Yes, leave, get out." Arthur sighed and edged into the kitchen to begin making that coffee. He really needed it. "Clock out and don't bother coming back."

"Oh, please, no-"

Oh lord. Arthur rolled his eyes. He pushed the young man gently out of way so he could get to the coffee maker. But Morris wasn't moving. Arthur shoved a little harder. He would be damned if anyone was going to deny him coffee one second longer-

"Hey, come on, that's enough."

Arthur looked up. The boy from earlier, the one who had given him a cigarette, stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Tore jeans and handmade red jumper and all. He was smiling. Somehow that just made things worse.

"What?" Arthur asked. He had just picked up the coffee pot.

"You've had your fun. Leave 'im be." The smoking boy leaned in and whispered to Morris the aide. "You okay?"

"Hey!" Arthur snapped. They both turned to him again. Arthur fixed his eyes on the smoking boy. "Do I know you?"

"Erm." Morris slipped away and disappeared while the smoking boy answered. Arther wouldn't forget though. Fire that little twit later. The smoking boy held out a hand. "We met outside, gave you a fag, remember? I'm Merlin."

Arthur refused to take that hand. How the hell did this boy get in here? "So I don't know you?" Arthur pulled out his mobile, turned it on, and pressed a button. There, that wouldn't take long.

"No, but-"

Arthur cut him off. "And yet you're in this building. I know everyone that works here and yet I really don't recognize you. So you have a few moment to explain yourself before security gets here." He set the coffeepot down again. No coffee yet. "Well?"

Merlin, or so he had called himself, laughed a little. But he had gone several shades paler. "Really? I- I haven't done anything."

"How did you get in?" Arthur folded his arms.

"I-"

The boy didn't have a chance to answer since one of the security guards strode around the corner. "Ah, Pellinore, thank you." Arthur pointed to the so-called-Merlin. "Him." He indicated.

Immediately, the security guard named Jason Pellinore grabbed the boy by the arm. And the boy looked as though he were about to faint.

It all happened so quickly, but all that Arthur knew was that he and Pellinore were standing confidently one moment, and the next, they were lying on the ground. Assault. Definitely assault. Arthur hauled himself to his feet and noticed that Merlin was still standing, half propped on the door, and panting. How had that happened? Arthur felt a little dizzy, ears ringing.

"I'm not-…I'm not-" The boy was shaking his head.

Arthur pointed at him. "You're going to be put away for that." And he made sure to keep his distance. "That was assault."

"No, I didn't mean- It's not-"

Other aides and employees were gathering and staring now as Pellinore was picking himself off the ground. His father finally pushed through the crowd, eyeing Arthur and Merlin. Dr. Gwilt was there too. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder, leaned in, said something.

Arther stepped forward. "Gwilt, back away, that man is dangerous. He just assaulted-"

"I did not!" The boy snarled.

The lights overhead flickered and buzzed. The crowd murmured.

"Come on." Gaius was gently pulling the boy away. "Come on." They disappeared into the dispersing crowd. What the hell?

Arthur looked to his father. "What was that?"

Uther slowly dragged his eyes from the smashed coffeepot on the ground, looked up at Arthur again. "Haven't you met Merlin yet? He's Dr. Gwilt's nephew."

"Shit."


	5. Everybody Needs Education

Chapter 5: Everybody Needs Education

* * *

Sunday, June 30, 2002

Diagon Alley, London, UK

Thirty-two minutes past noon

* * *

Merlin and the Headmistress stepped out into the busy street again. It was getting on in the day and he squinted against the sun. Was the wand the last thing on the list? He had read the supplies list over and over again the night before. He remembered everything. And they had bought everything. And now? Now he would have to go back home. Merlin skipped beside the Headmistress, watching all the people pass, looking up at the weird and crooked buildings. And he would have to leave here. Leave "Diagonally". He sighed.

"You are uncharacteristically quiet, Mr. Gwilt." Came a voice from above.

Merlin looked up at the Headmistress, squinting. "What?"

The headmistress smiled at him, but the sun was behind her now, so Merlin had to look away. "This is the longest you've ever been silent. I was afraid you were ill."

"No." Merlin shook his head. Their steps were taking them back to the tea shop and back to his mother. Back home. "I was just thinking."

"A dangerous endeavor, I'm sure."

"Heh." Merlin tried to laugh.

The crowds here were a little smaller than before and Merlin and the Headmistress could walk side-by-side.

Merlin couldn't really think of anything he should say so he stayed quiet. Everything had changed. Before he was excited about it. It was absolutely cool. But now? He stole a glance at the Headmistress again. Now, all he could feel was how different things were going to be. So very different. It all felt a little slanted. A little weird.

Well... Merlin looked at the shops they were passing. Broomsticks and cauldrons and strange smelling things at every turn. Magical things. So, a lot weird actually.

They passed the tea shop though. Merlin just noticed, looked back, slowed down, then jogged to catch up with the Headmistress. "Umm, Headmistress?"

"Mr. Gwilt?"

"The tea shop's back there."

"I know this." The Headmistress looked down and her mouth was a little, thin line. Well, to be fair, he hadn't really seen it do anything else. "We are going to purchase the last thing on your list and then we will return you to your mother. Does that suit you?"

"Oh." Merlin thought back. What had they missed? He couldn't remember. "Okay."

They turned a bit of a corner and a funny-looking red and orange building popped into sight. Merlin squinted at the sign. "What's this?" Merlin stopped in front of the big windows as they passed, mouth open.

Inside the brightly colored shop was a bunch of moving, waving, glittering, smoking, joy. Mounds upon mounds of little mechanical gadgets, flying toys, exploding whatevers, and piles of what looked like sweets. Other boys and girls that looked to be Merlin's age too were coming in and out of the doors, laughing, squealing.

"There will be nothing useful to you in there, young man."

Merlin felt a hand close around his arm and pull him away.

The Headmistress then muttered, probably to herself. "No need to make you any more dangerous."

Merlin laughed a little. "What is it? A toy store? Do all the toys move on their own?"

"It's a joke shop, Mr. Gwilt."

Merlin let himself be dragged down the street a little ways, the silly-looking orange building disappearing behind some other store fronts. "Wow." He breathed.

"The best in England, in all honesty." There was something like a small chuckle from above.

Merlin looked up and saw that the Headmistress was smiling a little. The hand left his arm. "So..." The cobblestone road beneath his feet looked just like one from a fairy tale. "What is the last thing on my list?"

"Well, Mr. Gwilt." The Headmistress stopped suddenly and Merlin almost smacked into her. "If you desire, an owl, or a cat, or a toad, really."

"Oh." Merlin breathed and looked into the shop window that they had just stopped in front of. Inside, lay a hive. In fact, it looked very much like the inside of a beehive he had once seen. A neighbor was watching him for a day, some old lady, while his mum was at work. And the old neighbor lady had shown him the beehives that she took care of. Even opened one up so he could see how it worked. And that's exactly what this shop reminded him of. Every animal imaginable crawled and slithered and hopped over one another inside the window.

The Headmistress sighed. "Though I don't particularly relish the thought of going inside."

Merlin laughed a little. It didn't look like the kind of place that the Headmistress would like at all. She had all her stuff together and very neat. His mum would call it 'prim'. And inside the shop, it was madness. He looked up at the sign.

Magical Menagerie.

Merlin looked back down to the little bag of coins that he'd stuffed in his pocket at the beginning of this shopping trip. It was a lot lighter now than it had been. A lot lighter. Merlin took it from his pocket and jingled it a little.

"Umm..." He wasn't sure how to ask it.

The Headmistress was looking down at him now, she frowned. "Yes? Yes, spit it out."

"The coins I have, the money that came from my mum's notes..." Merlin felt some kind of hotness in his cheeks and he wanted to sink into the cobblestones. Slide between the cracks in the street. "Can it be changed back, or is it forever?"

"Forever?" The Headmistress echoed. "Oh, I see. You want to change your Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts back into pound notes?"

Merlin nodded.

She nodded too and her lips did a funny twist. Maybe it was a smile. "Of course you can do that! If you couldn't, we'd all be in trouble, now wouldn't we? But why would you want to do that?"

Merlin shrugged. Shook his head.

"I am confused, Mr. Gwilt. Is something wrong?"

Merlin weighed the little bag of coins in his hand. "Is the owl, rat, or toad important? Do I need it?

"Oh..." The Headmistress put a hand to her mouth.

Like they all did.

He'd seen it before.

A lot.

Merlin continued. "The letter said, I think, that I can get one, if I want. But the thing is, I don't want it." Merlin held out the bag to the Headmistress. "And I wanna change the money back, since I don't need it now."

The Headmistress's hand stretched out and pushed the money back into Merlin's hands. She was clearing her throat. "Of course, Mr. Gwilt. We can do that." She began to head back the way they came. "We will just pick up your mother and-"

He followed. "Umm, Headmistress?" Merlin broke in. "Could we do it before we get mum? Please?"

The Headmistress looked back and nodded. "Of course."

The walk back to the money-changing place was quiet. Merlin didn't feel much like talking. He felt like if he opened his mouth, something stupid might fall out. And his cheeks were hot for a while. He knew he was red. Mum said he'd get red as a cherry when he was embarrassed or mad. He hated that.

But when the big white building popped up over the roofs of the other stores, Merlin couldn't help himself. "Wow!" The letters on the front spelled out: Gringotts. "That's it, right?"

"You are correct." The Headmistress led him up the shining steps and into the cool building. It was literally cool, and felt a bit like a very large cave. Not dark, but deep. There were tall, tall desks that lined each side of the big hall inside. And at every very high desk was a weird-looking thing. Some wore glasses. Some didn't. All of them wore nice suits though. The Headmistress told him not to stare and Merlin did his best. But they were very interesting.

When they walked out of the white building again, Merlin had just about twenty pounds clutched in his hands. It wasn't a lot compared to what he'd walked in with. But, it was something.

"Ready, Mr. Gwilt?"

Merlin stuffed the notes into his trouser pocket. "Yes!" And he followed the Headmistress into the crowd again.

Not much later, they popped into the tea shop and Merlin spotted his mum immediately. She was looking at one of his books and eating a biscuit. Biscuits. Merlin realized he was hungry.

"Hi, mum!" He plopped into the chair beside her. "Can I have a biscuit?"

"Oh!" His mum was a little startled, but put her arm across his shoulders. "Hello, dearie!" She hugged him. "You can have mine." And she handed him the biscuit. He munched on it while she kept talking. "I was just reading one of your books. Did Merlin behave himself, Headmistress?"

Merlin looked up to the Headmistress, who was standing by the table now. She nodded. Smiled too. "Yes, he did. Perfectly."

His mum closed the book she had been reading and tucked it back into the bags they had been using to tote all his supplies. "Well?" And his mum stood up. "Is all the shopping done?"

"Indeed it is, Ms. Gwilt. I'll escort you and Merlin back the way we came from. And from there you can go home."

"Alright, lovey." Merlin felt a hand ruffle his hair. "Let's go home."

"'Kay." Merlin slid out of his chair and finished off the biscuit. He dug around in his trouser pocket. "Mum." He tugged her wrist a little. "This is what's left over." And he handed the crumpled notes to her.

His mum kissed his hair and Merlin felt a little better. Not so red anymore.

"Thank you." She said. And his mum tucked the notes away.

Merlin looked up and the Headmistress was watching him. Merlin felt himself go all red again.

They gathered up all the parcels and bags and strange and weird supplies that they had bought and followed the Headmistress out of the tea shop, into the crowded street, and back to the brick arch. At one point, Merlin found himself beside the Headmistress as they walked.

"Mr. Gwilt?"

He looked up, panting from the heavy parcels. "Yeah?"

"You have yet to ask your seventh question."

He hadn't quite forgotten. But he couldn't quite come up with anything that was worth wasting his last question on. Merlin sighed. "Maybe... Maybe I could save it for another time? Like, you owe me one?" He shrugged. "I can't think of anything important enough to ask."

"Alright then, Mr. Gwilt. I owe you an answer someday."

* * *

Thursday, July 4, 2002

A small, familiar village about 40 minutes drive outside Northampton, UK

Exactly one minute before nine in the morning

* * *

Minerva McGonagall suddenly found herself on a rather familiar dusty stretch of Tweed Lane just outside the village of _. First, the sight, then the smells, the gravel and dirt baked by the summer sun, and everything green, so green she could taste it, and some wildflowers somewhere nearby but they could not be spotted. McGonagall sighed and started walking. Other than the wind in the trees and the soft bird-calls, only her crunching footsteps could be heard. After about a minute or so of walking, a little white cottage came into view around the bend in the road. Nestled into the surrounding trees and covered in ivy, the building looked like some strange piece of the wilderness as well. Sprung out of the ground ages ago and sat undisturbed since then. There was a little gravel path that led to the door and a garden to the side. Everything looked just neat enough, like it was all on the cusp of falling into wild nature at any moment.

Minerva noticed that she had stopped and began to walk again, up the front path. She raised her hand to the front door. But before she could knock, the door swung open and there on the other side of the threshold was a grinning Merlin Gwilt.

"I heard you come up the drive." He panted.

"Good morning, young man." Minerva looked down at the boy. "Are you prepared for your lessons today?"

"Yes!" And the boy stood aside so let her pass into the cottage.

The little home was cool as she ducked inside, and dim. She smelled flowers, faintly. "Where have you been having your other lessons, Mr. Gwilt?"

"Kitchen!" Came the answer.

Minerva heard the door shut to behind her with a slam. She stepped around the corner and into the kitchen, Merlin whizzing past her and sitting himself at the table. He was digging into some soggy cereal. Minerva sat herself down as well. "Breakfast?" She asked.

"Yes." Came the answer through a full mouth.

Minerva McGonagall pulled out her pocket-watch and looked at the time. It was just about a minute or so after nine in the morning. They were already behind. Minerva sighed. "Alright, young man. Where is your book and parchment for notes? Your quill and ink?" She tucked her timepiece away again.

Merlin looked up from his breakfast and wiped his mouth. "Oh, sorry. Ahm, I'll go get them." He began to clean up his cereal.

"See that you do." McGonagall glanced around the kitchen as she waited. She wondered where Ms. Gwilt was.

Merlin ran out of the kitchen and a moment later she could hear him stomping up the stairs, presumably, to where he was keeping his school supplies.

The little kitchen was tidy, but old. It looked like the kind of kitchen that Minerva had sat in as a young girl, the kind that her childhood home had. Small, well-worn, and basic. A deep sink with two faucets, a tiny gas range, and a little icebox. The floor was white, but stained, tile. Very comfortable. Very lived in. And of course, there was a little mug on the windowsill with a few wildflowers sitting in water. Sweet-smelling.

Merlin hopped back into the kitchen, dropping his book and a quantity of parchment on the table. "Transfiguration, right?" He asked.

McGonagall frowned. "What does your schedule say?"

A pause. A glance down to a piece of parchment. "Transfiguration."

"Then transfiguration, it is."

Minerva watched as the boy laid out his book and parchment neatly. "Did you other lessons go smoothly. Charms?" She asked.

Merlin looked up. "Charms? Oh, Monday! Yeah, yeah, that was fun. Mr. Flitwick-"

"Professor." McGonagall corrected.

"Right. Yeah, sorry." Merlin nodded. "Professor Flitwick was really nice. Super nice."

"Indeed he is." Seeing that Merlin was almost prepared. Minerva McGonagall stood up and drew her wand. There was no chalkboard in the kitchen, so she could have to make do. "And your Potions lesson?"

"Mm-hmm!" Merlin opened his book. "Mr.- Professor Slughorn was nice too. He had a lot of jokes."

"Indeed, he does." Minerva sighed, and began writing in the air the notes that she would have Merlin copy down. "And Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Wow..." She heard the boy breathe behind her, doubtless staring at the words she was writing in thin air. But he soon continued. "Yeah, Bill was great! He told me a lot of stories about him breaking curses in Egypt. He was really really cool."

"Professor Weasley." McGonagall turned back around. "Hopefully, you learned some of your lessons too."

"Yeah." Merlin nodded. He wasn't holding a quill in his hand. And he had no inkwell.

Minerva frowned. "Where is your ink and quill, young man?"

"Oh." Merlin looked at the ballpoint pen in his hand. "This is a pen."

"I know know what it is." She wasn't stupid.

"Bill said I could use it." The boy seemed to deflate a little.

"Well, I shall have to have a talk with Professor Weasley about it later." She turned back around to her notes. "He may be a temporary teacher, but we do have rules." And after another minute or so, she had finished writing the first series of notes in the air, hanging just in the doorway between the kitchen and the front hall.

"Right." She faced her pupil once more. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes!" The boy hopped a little in his seat. "Should I write that all down?"

"Not yet." And Minerva allowed herself to sit back down at the kitchen table. "First, I shall speak, then, you shall write when I say so."

Merlin nodded.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." She gave the boy a hard look. "Once you do get to Hogwarts, Mr. Gwilt, you will see that anyone messing around will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Merlin Gwilt nodded, staring back at her, pen poised above his paper.

She continued. "Transfiguration is the..." And she pointed to the definition of Transfiguration that she had written in the air for Merlin. "...alteration of the form or appearance of an object. You may write now, Mr. Gwilt."

Merlin hurriedly scribbled on his parchment with the blue ballpoint pen.

"It is one of the more, if not the most, difficult branches of magic that you will learn. It takes years to master. And when you do, if you do, master it, then you must continue to perform it perfectly. It is not a type of magic with which you can be lazy." She paused a moment more to allow the boy to finish writing. "There are four main types of Transfiguration that you will learn. They are: Transformation, Vanishment, Conjuration, and Untransfiguration."

Merlin was still writing.

"Have you gotten all that, Mr. Gwilt?" Minerva asked.

The boy's ears were turning red as he wrote, a surefire indication that he was embarrassed over something.

"Yeah." He finally answered, looking up. "Sorry, I write slow."

"That is not a problem, simply copy what I write here and you will have all the notes you need." Minerva McGonagall turned around to continue to write with her wand, to elaborate on the categories of Transfiguration, but as soon as she lifted her wand, she heard a soft voice.

"Umm, Headmistress? Or should I call you 'Professor' right now? Sorry."

"Either way, Mr. Gwilt." McGonagall turned back around. "Did you have any further questions?"

"Yes, ahm." And he seemed loath to spit it out for a moment. "Would it be like if I turned something like... Well, something like a green apple into, like, a red apple?"

"Exactly. That is an acceptable example." Minerva frowned. "Any particular reason you thought of it, or was your question just for clarification?"

Merlin bowed his head again, staring at his parchment. "Just wondering."

McGonagall turned back around and proceeded with writing the description of the four categories of Transfiguration. "Now," She began again. "Transformation is the first category we will discuss and the first one you will learn practically. It is, simply, changing the physical appearance of an object. Furthermore, there are several divisions of Transformation, these include: Human Transfiguration, Switching, and Trans-Species Transformation."

Minerva took a breath and a moment to pause. She watched the boy vigorously writing, waited a minute more, then continued. "Have you opened and, or, read your Transfiguration book yet, Mr. Gwilt? A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration?"

More writing, then Merlin looked up again. "Um, no. Sorry. Was I supposed to?"

"Not necessarily." Minerva was satisfied that the notes she had written in the air in the Gwilt's kitchen would keep the young boy busy for a while. Long enough to give her an excuse to sit down again. So, she sat down. As the years passed, the length of time she could remain on her feet became shorter and shorter. It was depressing, to say the least.

After a while, Merlin finished writing. He looked up once more. "What's next?" He asked.

"Demonstrations." From her pocket, Minerva McGonagall pulled two glass vials, each with a little stoppered top, and within each of these vessels was a shiny beetle. A red one, and a gold one. One with pincers, and one with feelers. She set these across the kitchen table from Merlin. "Now, before we continue with the categories of Transfiguration, I will show you a few examples of the types of Transformation that exist. The first is, as I've said before, Human Transfiguration, which I will demonstrate last. The second was Switching." She drew her wand.

Merlin leaned forward, nearly halfway across the table now.

"Mr. Gwilt, remain in your seat." Minerva waited while the boy sat back down in his chair. "Thank you. Switching is the exchange of two characteristics between two targets." She pointed her wand to the red floating word 'Switching' and it became a shiny gold. "Examine these beetles, please. Describe them?"

Merlin's chin rested on the table as he studied the beetles in their two little vials. "One is excited and the other is sad."

McGonagall sighed. He was not wrong. One beetle was running little circles around its small enclosure and the other looked quite dour. If beetles were capable of being dour, that is.

"Try again, please. Color, physical attributes, and perhaps not temperament."

"Oh, sorry, um." A small pause. "One is shiny gold with claw-things. And the other is red... with little curly antennae."

"Correct." Minerva nodded. "Now a demonstration of Switching." She flicked her wand gently at the two beetles. And, quite instantly, one pincer and antenna had been exchanged for the other, so that now each beetle had one of each. The gold beetle looked quite put out by it's new lack of pincer and the red beetle looked quite alarmed by having suddenly come into possession of a deadly weapon.

"Cool!" The student exclaimed. "But..."

"But what?"

"Will you fix it? Put it back the way they were?" A note of worry.

Easily remedied. Minerva McGonagall flicked her wand once more and both beetles had gained their original appendages back. "Better?"

"Yeah." The boy sighed.

She continued. "Good. Now the next sub-category of Transformation that we will learn is Trans-Species Transformation, which is the simply the change of a target species, completely or partially into another species. As opposed to Switches, Trans-Species Transformation can only be performed on living creatures, you do understand that?" And Minerva paused to make sure her student had comprehended.

"Ahm." Merlin tapped his chin with his fingers. "I think. So switching is done on two things, any two things?"

"Yes."

"And Trans-Species stuff, that's only done on animals."

"Hence the name 'Trans-Species Transformation'." She nodded.

"I think I get it." He frowned. "But this's a lot harder than the other classes."

Minerva gently tapped the tip of her wand on one of the floating red words in the air, illuminating the phrase 'Trans-Species Transformation' and turning it a fiery gold. "Transfiguration is one of the hardest subjects you will learn at Hogwarts. It is very precise and requires skill."

"Is that why you teach it." Merlin smiled, looking up from the two beetles to meet her eyes.

What cheek! But Minerva McGonagall allowed herself a secret smile too. "Thank you, Mr. Gwilt. Shall we continue?"

"Yep."

She raised her wand and the little red beetle instantly became gold, lost its antennae, and grew two small pincers. "Complete Trans-Species Transformation." McGonagall pronounced.

Again, the student bent low, his chin touching the table, and stared intently at the two glass vials. "Bloody hell." He whispered.

Her response was automatic, so ingrained that it had come out of her mouth before she even realized she was saying it. "Language, Mr. Gwilt!"

"Sorry."

"Now, for the last sub-category of Transformation." She indicated the floating red phrase, 'Human Transfiguration' with her wand and the letters blazed gold. Then, with a little arranging of her robes, Minerva McGonagall slid out of her chair and back onto her feet. "Ballpoint pen down, Mr. Gwilt."

Merlin looked up and saw her standing. "Oh, right, sorry." And he set down his pen.

Minerva waited a moment. And then... She shifted.

It was altogether, always, a very slow and very fast change. She felt it run down her body, like a wave of gooseflesh. And in an instant, she was her other self. The other half. The other body that she possessed that was a little more agile, a little more useful, and a little more fun than the body she was born with.

She had leapt and mid-leap transfigured into her cat form and was now composedly sitting on the kitchen table before her gape-mouthed student.

But only a short demonstration was needed today, everything had to be fast-paced and they really couldn't afford to fall behind. So she shifted back into her real self, standing again on the Gwilts' cracked tile floor. She adjusted her robes. "Well, how was that for a demonstration?"

"Awesome." He breathed. "Can I do that?"

"No, not for a long time."

And the lessons continued. Minerva McGonagall finished explaining the remaining categories of Transfiguration to Merlin and finally touched on the formula for conducting a Transfiguration spell and the alphabet used in said formula. There was the regular safety lecture that she gave before any Transfiguration magic of any kind was performed, along with a safety contract that Merlin had to read and sign. Finally, he was allowed to attempt to turn a match into a needle. After an excruciating hour of that, Minerva finally relented and they stopped for lunch.

Merlin sighed as McGonagall picked up the match, still a match, and tucked it away. "Mum made lunches, if you want some."

Minerva sat back down at the kitchen table as Merlin shifted his book and parchments aside. "That was very nice of her."

Merlin slid out of his seat and grabbed a few brown paper packages that had been lying on the counter. "They're corned beef."

"Lovely."

They ate. The window in the kitchen was open and a breeze kept fluttering the paper thin, spotted curtains there. A warm breeze.

After a few minutes, McGonagall spoke again. "Where is Ms. Gwilt?"

Merlin looked up from his sandwich, which was half-falling apart in his hands. "Umm." He spoke around a mouthful. "At work."

"When does she return?"

"Ahm, after dark..." He thought a moment. "Late. Nine-ish, I think."

Minerva nodded silently since she was chewing as well. Ms. Gwilt was a single mother, so Merlin was probably home alone a lot.

After lunch, they started on the second round of Transfiguration lessons and managed to continue discussing and practicing until Ms. Gwilt came home that night. Minerva's original plans for the day had her departing at five in the evening. Sharp. Somehow, it just didn't happen. She left at twelve minutes past nine, once she had thanked Ms. Gwilt for the lunch, of course.

* * *

July and August of 2002

A small, familiar village about 40 minutes drive outside Northampton, UK

Various times throughout the day, averaging to about, let's say, 11:24am

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Hunith Gwilt had strange persons tramping through her kitchen, and with her luck, it certainly wouldn't be the last. She had, at one time in her life, considered herself not easily surprised. Thought of herself as a little bit "used to it all". This was mostly because of the fact that her son was a bit odd. Well, actually, very odd. But he was usually very careful about it. And if he was doing... magic regularly, he was very good at hiding it from her. As long as he didn't get into trouble, she would allow it. She had given him enough lectures for him to know that by now.

So when that funny little man with the white hair had whipped out a little piece of wood and waved it about, causing the vase of wildflowers to lift off the windowsill and float in the air, well... She had pretty much squawked. Almost shrieked.

The little man, a professor, apologized quite a bit. If anything, though, Hunith was the embarrassed one. She had gone beet red, she could feel it, and excused herself outside, muttering something about the garden. Practically scurrying.

She swore from that point on to keep her mouth shut, no matter what.

She was, after all, not easily surprised, right? She was "used to it all". She could get used to this. It was the same kind of oddness that Merlin had brought into her life twelve years ago, the same kind of magic. Just a little bit more of it than usual. She would just have to make more sandwiches.

So Hunith watched. Some days she was at work, some days she wasn't. She watched the small, wizened little professor teach Merlin how to float things and unlock locks. That last bit she wasn't so pleased about. On Tuesdays, the large, rotund professor would arrive, speaking just as loudly as and as roundly as his girth. He showed Merlin how to brew strange things on her little stove. On Wednesdays, a tall thin man with just blinding red hair would come striding up the dirt road next to the cottage, calling out "Hello!" or something else of the sort. He had worrisome scars across his face, but thank goodness Merlin didn't seem to notice or point it out. Children can be a little too straightforward at times. And the red-haired man would tell just as many stories of dangerous adventures as he would give lessons. And on Thursdays, as always, she would have a nice sit down with the Headmistress, a cup of tea, and they would watch Merlin try to turn a poor mouse or something like that into a snuffbox or a matchbox, or whatever.

But on the weekends, it was just Hunith and her boy again. The old team. Merlin would read to her from his history of magic, herbology, and astronomy books all through Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Together, they would write essays, trying desperately to figure out the quills and ink. Together, at midnight, they would drag the telescope outside to the garden. The sun was down but the earth was still warm beneath they bare feet. And they would stare at the stars all night.

The hot days slid by. Merlin studied. Hunith watched. September was approaching, a little too quickly.


	6. Frontier Psychiatrist

Chapter 6: Frontier Psychiatrist

* * *

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

City of Westminster, London, UK

(Let's say, about five minutes 'til 2)

* * *

"Gaius, you don't have to do this."

"And I'm supposed to let you wander everywhere, on your own? I'm your guardian."

"For now."

Despite the crowds coming of the tube station, Merlin could still hear his uncle's snort.

"Your sentence ends in August, whether you're eighteen or not."

Thanks, Gaius. That's exactly what I need today. Merlin squeezed his hands into fists inside his trouser pockets. He could tell that his hands were still shaking after the incident with-... Well, Merlin wasn't sure what to think of it. The incident with the coffee, he supposed. He wished he hadn't handed over his cigarettes just yet.

"I know." Merlin sighed.

"What time is it? Are we on time?" His uncle was fumbling with his mobile, squinting at the screen and bumping into people.

Merlin took his uncle's elbow and pulled him to the side. He had spotted a clock on the way in. It was already 1:57pm. He was going to be late at this rate. "I've gotta go now."

"Are you sure I shouldn't come with you? I can't remember what the letter said, but..." And another wave of passersby drowned out his uncle's words.

Merlin smiled and tried to shout over the din. "The letter said I didn't need anyone to come with! I'm gonna be late!"

"Call me when you're on your way back!"

Merlin turned to go but his uncle grabbed him by the arm, still talking. Pulled him close.

"Merlin, look, I'm sorry about earlier. That wasn't your-"

"Gonna be late!" Merlin yanked himself free. Wasn't much point in listening to the rest of that. He merged into the crowd and was soon on the Jubilee line towards the Baker Street station. He counted the two stops, then got off. Then got back on again. One more stop. Got off. And pulled out the letter that had arrived a week or so ago.

Merlin loitered just outside the station. There was an address and a meeting time in the text. His mum had helped him plot out the route he would have to take. So far, so good. Merlin scanned down the letter. The meeting time was for 2:30pm. Right. 2:30pm. He tucked away the letter again into his back pocket. He headed towards the bus stop and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. One soon arrived at the stop. As people filed into the bus, Merlin checked his notes. Yep, this was the right number and going the right direction. Merlin fumbled for his wallet to pull out his bus pass and scanned it as he hopped onboard. The bus chugged off.

One stop passed. Merlin got off at the next. He crossed the street and didn't have to go far until he was at the right street. He looked up at the street sign, double-checking, then turned down it. It was a smaller street, a side street, he guessed. It was quieter. He felt himself relax a little. He had been tense the entire trip and his heart would not stop racing. The noise of the city died down a little. He could hear birds.

Merlin glanced at his mobile. It was 2:21pm. Would the guy be angry if he was early? There was no telling. He slowed his steps until he was pretty much just shuffling down the street, hands jammed in his pockets.

The side street he was walking down seemed to squeeze in between housing divisions, the back of one such division was a bit of wild field. The grasses were high and turning green again. It was that time of year after all. Brown things turning green. He could spot a few wildflowers. In the distance, somewhere, he could hear the voices of kids playing.

Before Merlin knew it, he was in front of the right place. It had the little green sign in the shape of a diamond with the words "Youth Offending Team" on it in white lettering. He stopped.

He had to go in there. Soon. Eventually.

He pulled out his mobile again. It was only 2:23pm. Merlin sucked in a deep breath and stepped down the three or four steps that sunk into the pavement, leading down to the little office. He looked at the door. No doorbell. No knocker. He raised his hand and knocked on the wooden door.

Maybe they were out for lunch. Maybe he could go. Merlin was about to turn around and go back to Gaius.

The door opened. His heart sunk.

"Good afternoon. You must be Mr. Gwilt. You're right on time, I've been expecting you." The man stepped aside. Merlin took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Quite suddenly, the floor bucked. He was dizzy. His ears rang. And then, it was gone. Merlin shook his head. Strange.

He had entered with his head ducked, hurrying into the dim office, so he hadn't gotten a good look at the man who had answered the door. The door was closed behind him and Merlin's eyes finally adjusted to the dim light. But before Merlin could get a good look at the man's face, he had turned and was striding down a carpeted hall and into a far room.

"My office is down here. Follow me." He said and disappeared behind the corner.

Merlin tugged his hands out of his pockets and pulled out the letter, holding it tightly. It was proof that he hadn't done anything wrong yet. They couldn't get him on anything yet. He followed. The little reception area just inside the front door was dim and a few sad-looking chairs sat in there, sagging and uncomfortable. Merlin passed this and went down the hall, towards the office. The walls were white and the fluorescent lights above hummed and flickered a little as he passed. There weren't any windows, anywhere. It felt, tight. It was a very claustrophobic kind of place.

Merlin edged into the office and stood in the doorway. The walls were white, a tall bookcase sat against the far wall, holding a few plain books with long titles. The man's desk was around the corner, to the left, and he was already sitting behind it. Now, Merlin could get a good look at him. He was white-haired. An older man. Thin. And he wore a suit. But it wasn't really a nice suit. Just a grey suit and white hair. He looked like a regular bloke. Merlin stood where he was, watching him arrange some papers on his desk.

"So," Merlin began. "Ahm, you're Mr. Lambton?"

"Yes, and you are Merlin Ambrose Gwilt." Mr. Lambton didn't look up from his papers. "Seventeen years of age. One meter and eighty-three in height." He recited. "Black hair, blue eyes, rather on the…" He trailed off and finally looked up. "The thin side of things. Yes, a bit thin. Are you eating well?" The man's face was thin, with high cheekbones and bright eyes underneath white eyebrows

Merlin frowned. "Ahm-"

"Don't have to answer now." Mr. Lambton held up his hand. "Not necessary, now. But, you are here for a reason, yes?"

"Yes?" Merlin tentatively answered. Was it rhetorical?

"Yes, I am to be your guide for the next six months, yes, your guide through this whole process." He pointed to the chair sitting before his desk, like Merlin expected he would, and said. "Have a seat."  
Merlin sat down. Mr. Lambton didn't seem too bad. So far.

"Sorry, I am just pulling out your file. Got to make sure I have everything correct. Just a couple of questions before we begin."

Merlin swallowed hard.

"What is your mother's maiden name?"

He almost choked. "Ahm, is that really-"

"Answer please." And Merlin could see Mr. Lambton writing something down, but he couldn't quite see what it was.

"Right, sorry. It's Gwilt, she never married." Merlin felt his ears go red. It was always a bit embarrassing to explain. He didn't know who his father was. Didn't even have a name to go on. It was just him and his mum.

"Thank you." Something else was written down. "In what year did you leave secondary school to attend boarding school?"

"Umm, boarding school, yeah. I left secondary in 2002."  
"Not 2001?"

"No."

"Thank you." Some other little note was made. "One more question: Would you like tea? I just put the kettle on in the breakroom."

Merlin found himself leaning forward, dry mouth, and heart pounding. He had to swallow and think a moment before he could answer. "Um, yeah, sure." He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't an offer for tea.

To be fair, he wasn't sure what to expect from this whole thing.

Something whistled in another room. Mr. Lambton got up from his desk, edged around it, and left the office. A couple minutes later he returned with two teacups with saucers. Merlin gingerly took the one that was offered. Mr. Lambton sat down again.

"Now," The man began again, after taking a sip. "How are you, Merlin? Did your trip go well?"

Merlin swallowed again. The hot tea felt nice against his hands. "Umm, yeah. M'fine. Trip was fine."

"That's good." Another sip. Mr. Lambton seemed to be examining Merlin closely.

Merlin looked away and tried to read a few of the book titles on the bookshelf. It was awkward being stared at. But couldn't really make out any of the titles, the print was too small.

"And you just arrived today. Did you meet with ah-..." A pause while Mr. Lambton shuffled a few papers and read something. "Your uncle, Dr. Gwilt?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to be living with him for the next six months. Did you get to see where you will be living?"

"Yeah, it's nice."

"Good, good." Mr. Lambton set down his tea. "Well, let's get this started."  
Merlin felt his heart start to pound again, and just when he was starting to relax. He set down his tea too and tried to sit up straight. "Okay."

"So, I am your assigned YOS officer as long as you are living here in London with your uncle. You will be meeting with me on a weekly basis in order to report on your progress on your reparation project. You are…" Another glance at the papers. "Going to work towards HCA certification. There are some online classes you are enrolled in and you will be doing a semi-apprenticeship with your uncle, Dr. Gwilt. And this is the reparation that was outlined for you, correct?"

Merlin nodded.

"Correct?"

He was supposed to speak, but his mouth was so dry. "Uh, yeah." He rasped.

Mr. Lambton picked up his pen again. "What day will you be able to come in and meet with me? And what time?"

Merlin shrugged. Didn't matter. He'd probably be able to come in at any time. "I dunno."

"Pick a day."

Merlin shrugged.

"How does next Wednesday sound?" The YOS officer offered.

"Okay." To be fair, Merlin didn't particularly want to come to any of these meetings. But they were court-mandated. He'd be arrested again if he didn't show up to even one.

"Thank you." Mr. Lambton made a note. "And what time?"

He shrugged again. "I dunno. Nine-ish?"

"Thank you. So we'll be meeting on Wednesdays at nine o'clock."

Merlin picked up his tea again, sloshing a little into the saucer, and took a gulp. His stomach growled. Right, he was pretty hungry. Gaius would probably have something in mind by the time he got back. Hopefully. It was after two in the afternoon, so maybe lunch? Or maybe by the time he got back and by the time Gaius was ready, they would be having dinner? Gaius probably knew of some good take-out places-

"And we'll talk about other things too. We can talk about anything you want." Mr. Lambton set down his pen and picked up his teacup again.

"Thanks." Merlin nodded. What was there to talk about though? He fucked up, and now he was paying for it. Simple as that.

"I'm not just here to keep you on task, Merlin." Mr. Lambton gave him a look over his teacup. "I hope to counsel you through anything you need guidance or advice in, truly, that is what my presence is for. I want to be your mentor."

Merlin set down his empty teacup. And they proceeded to sit in silence. He shifted in his chair a little. It squeaked. How long was this meeting supposed to be?

"Anything you want to talk about?" Mr. Lambton asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"How was Glen Parva? You were only there for...what?"

"Six months." Merlin heard himself automatically answer.

"That isn't so bad." Mr. Lambton seemed to be smiling. Trying to do something reassuring with his face. "Did you survive?"

There was a sour taste in his mouth. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes. Yes you are." The YOS officer reached down behind his desk and pulled a tin out of a drawer or something. He opened it. "Biscuit?"  
Merlin heard his stomach grumble again. "No, thanks."

Mr. Lambton took a biscuit for himself, put the tin away, and took a bite. "I want to talk about what happened that necessitated you being sent to Glen Parva, and subsequently, here. Would that be okay?"

Merlin watched Mr. Lambton chew. "No." He answered.

"At least you are honest." The old man smiled.

Merlin wrinkled his nose and looked away again. "Are we done now?"

"No."

Great. Merlin slumped a little in his seat.

"I expect," Mr. Lambton continued. "You were lashing out for some reason. Were you trying to…" And he paused, maybe searching for words. "Perhaps you were trying to hurt someone, or something? Perhaps you were angry? But I want actually ask you, are you still angry?"

Merlin stared at the desk. "Angry?"

"Yes. What you did took some anger to do, or at least an intense emotion. Was it anger?"

"No."

"What was it?"

Merlin stared at the desk. It was a cheap desk. The fluorescent light above buzzed. Merlin could hear his heart beating, slowly. He blinked.

"Merlin? What were you feeling?"

"I wasn't."

"You were-"

"I didn't feel nothing. Just empty. I did it 'cause things don't matter." Merlin had slid pretty far down in his chair so he sat up. "Nothin' matters."

He could hear the scratch of Mr. Lambton's pen on his notepad. "And how about now? Does that emptiness persist?"

"Kinda." Merlin shrugged.

"Kind of, how?"

How was he supposed to know? Merlin pulled out his phone to look at the time. "Just tired." It was 2:50pm. "Just don' care, you know?"

"Mmmhmm." More pen scratches. "That can become normal for you, normal enough that things that make you… feel emotion, they tend to stand out. Have you seen or done, or talked to anyone lately, that created a break in this apathy?"

Apathy? He shrugged. Studied the desk some more.

"That's fine." Mr. Lambton was speaking softer now, Merlin noticed. "Have a minute to think about it."

Merlin thought about it, like he asked. It was hard to remember things, sometimes.

"Something that felt positive, Merlin." Mr. Lambton prompted.

That was rare. Merlin thought a moment more. "Umm, maybe when I got to see Gaius again. I hadn't seen him since-"

"Gaius?"

"Sorry, my uncle, it's his name."

"Right, right." Some more scribbles. "So you were happy to see him again?"

"Yeah."

A minute or so passed while Mr. Lambton wrote, then he set down his pad and pen and sighed. "Alright, Mr. Gwilt. I won't keep you very long today. I can tell you're itching to leave. But we will have a full-length meeting next Wednesday, of that you can be sure." He stood up.

Merlin stood up too.

Mr. Lambton continued. "Now, you have some homework. Start your courses and keep a daily journal of what Dr. Gwilt asks you to do and what he teaches you. Understood?"

Merlin nodded.

"We will continue to talk about what you're feeling, so be prepared with some insight. Look inwards."

Merlin snorted.

"Take it seriously!" The older man growled, eyes flashing.

And for the first time, Merlin felt a little frightened. So far, Mr. Lambton hadn't seemed very threatening. Almost harmless. But now…

Mr. Lambton sighed and ran a hand through his white hair. There was a lot of it, but it was combed back. "One more thing." He stepped around his desk and took a few books off his bookshelf. "I like to give out paperbacks. Sometimes, if we have a book to talk about, it can facilitate conversation. Here." And he handed a few dusty and yellowed books to Merlin. They were all small and cheap, the kind you'd find in a bargain bin in a shop.

Merlin looked through them. The first was "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court". He hadn't read that one before. Mark Twain was fun, on occasion. The second was "The Wizard of Earthsea" by Ursula K. LeGuin. And the third was H.G. Wells's "The Time Machine".

Merlin held out the third book to Mr. Lambton, giving it back. "I've read this one." He mumbled.

"Don't want to read it again?"

Merlin swallowed hard. "Nope."

"Curious." But that was all Mr. Lambton said and he put the book back on the shelf. "Well you have your assignments and your books. Are there any other questions I can answer for you?"

Merlin shook his head. He just wanted to get out, and get back to Gaius, and maybe eat something.

"Alright, off you go then." Mr. Lambton walked Merlin to the door, opened it, and held it as Merlin left. "Remember, look inward."

"Right." And Merlin crossed the threshold. It was bright.

A rush of adrenaline, his heart thumped wildly, and Merlin drew in a deep breath like he'd been holding it for the past half hour. He looked around.

But the street was quiet. He looked back, the door was closed behind him. A little dizzy, and gripping his books, he started down the street and back to the bus stop.

He had lied. He hadn't read "The Time Machine" before.

He just didn't like the sick feeling he got in his stomach when he looked at the name.


End file.
